Blue-Blooded Health Club Studs Given Blue Balls



Kevin Turner was stuck in his own car behind a huge black Mercedes 500 S sedan as he entered the gate-guarded parking lot of his exclusive health club around noon on a Monday. Kevin was on the final week of a two-week vacation and had spent the past week in Hawaii, so he was enjoying his free week back in town before he had to return to work. Kevin owned a business that sold hidden video cameras to businesses and families who wanted to either spy on their employees to prevent stealing or, in the case of families, to ensure that the "nanny" was not mistreating their children. Kevin delegated the running of the business to his partner during his vacation.

The 30-year-old Kevin enjoyed being able to take his time and do what he wanted to all day for a change, but obviously most of the people in the line of cars approaching the parking lot were professionals on a lunch break who wanted to cram a workout into their one or two-hour lunchtimes.

Clearly the darkly handsome guy in front of Kevin in the big Mercedes was in a hurry, complaining audibly through the open window of his sleek, impressive car at the delay in being admitted to the lot, and leaning on his loud horn repeatedly. When the arrogant business-suited dude in front of him finally got up to the guard's gate, he complained openly and at length about the "delay"(selfishly wasting everyone's time behind him, of course), announcing that he would "have you fired, you fuckin' wetback, fuckin' incompetent asshole! Why have you kept me waiting? My time is important!!"

The guy in the big Mercedes then roared off and promptly parked in the handicap-parking zone, placing a bootleg placard on the dash. Then he strode off toward the entrance to the exclusive health club, no doubt intent on giving the manager a piece of his mind about the "incompetent wetback parking lot attendant". There was clearly nothing physically wrong with the dude; he was sun-bronzed, 6' 4" about 28 or 29, and in obviously peak physical condition under his tailored suit, emphasized by the brightly colored, "power"-denoting designer suspenders he wore which highlighted his trim waist and defined chest under his designer shirt. Maybe he did qualify for a disabled placard based on "mental" disability, however, mused Kevin.

When Kevin entered the health club himself he noticed that the dude in the big Mercedes was striding out of the manager's office still red-faced and self-important, the manager looking harassed but saying in a time-worn placating fashion "yes, Mr. Alexander, I'll be sure to have a word with Jose and if this continues, Greg, Jose will be fired, of course," although Kevin could tell the manager was just trying to get rid of the braying, complaining yuppie so he could get back to work. Kevin had noticed the designer shirt and tie-clad health club manager, a 6' 2" darkly handsome dude about 30, ran the place like a fuckin' tyrant and hoped Jose would not lose his job, but then Kevin was formulating a plan that should protect Jose. Kevin was enjoying his ability to take his time and do whatever he pleased while on vacation time, so he decided to follow the puffed-up-with-his-own-importance dude into the locker room and more or less "stalk" him during his workout. Kevin was also happy that he had brought a few devices with him in his gym bag that should make the "stalking" all the more fun. He had all afternoon to spend. Should be fun.

Kevin followed "Greg Alexander" (Kevin later learned his full name was "Gregory Alexander III"-wouldn't you just know) through the health club and into the locker room, Kevin noticing several bouncing aerobics bimbettes eagerly and lustily shouting "Hi, Greg!" as he passed by, Greg nodding curt "hellos" at them, obviously used to open admiration at his tall, handsome business-suited self, and the fact that he was obviously very successful, even wealthy, a definite "catch". Kevin even heard one bimbette say to the other after Greg had passed "Oh, Leanne, he is like sooo dreamy! What I wouldn't give to get into know!" as the bimbettes dispersed in a flurry of girlish giggles into the workout area.

Kevin followed Greg into the locker room, noting that Greg chose a short bay of lockers near the quieter rear of the locker room, no doubt for the extra privacy he thought this would afford him. There were no other members using either of these locker bays for the time being, although locks on lockers indicated that other members had stowed their stuff there but were currently working out. Kevin deliberately chose a locker in a mirror-image short bay of lockers opposite. Kevin stowed his gym bag in one locker which faced the opposite bay of lockers where Greg had gone and stealthily was able to place a special video camera he had brought with him which was shaped like a portable radio. Kevin set this up in the spare locker next to his, secretly videotaping toward the area where Greg was getting settled into (and which would photograph anyone else who happened along in that area).

Kevin watched out of the corner of his eye while the hidden video camera recorded the arrogant young hunk's imminent disrobing, Kevin getting off on the fact that he was going to get to observe as the brash young self-important troublemaker dropped his fancy drawers, Kevin fantasizing that the arrogant conceited dude was having to strip for Kevin's pleasure and at his command! Kevin noted that Greg managed to somehow look peeved that Kevin had chosen the locker he chose, robbing Greg of his privacy, but Greg's body language made it clear that Greg had no choice but to start stripping; he obviously was in a hurry to get in a full workout and had already wasted enough time making a big scene about the delay getting into the parking lot. Kevin made a mental note to provide plenty of still pictures from the video or a copy of the video itself for Jose the parking lot attendant! Kevin was sure he'd get a kick out of seeing his tormentor baring his fancy ass and exposing his privates against his knowledge or will!

Kevin surreptitiously watched and the video quietly recorded, as Gregory Alexander III undid his silk, designer neck-tie and placed it in his locker, followed by his slipping his designer suspenders off his hunky shoulders, letting them temporarily hang down over his tailored suit pants, whereupon he began unbuttoning his blue-and-white striped, designer shirt, revealing a sun-bronzed jet-black-haired muscular chest, jet-black body hair fanning out over his broad, perfectly developed pectoral planes then narrowing into a fine line before broadening out as the hair on his six-pack abs disappeared into the confines of his tailored suit pants.

Greg next removed his designer shirt altogether and placed it in his locker, reaching up to hang the shirt on a hook in the locker, revealing the thickly jet-black-haired depths of his incredibly hairy, manly armpits. After a pointed glance Kevin's way to make sure the dude wasn't a fag and/or wasn't watching (Greg was wrong on both counts; Kevin was gay and he was watching, just watching discreetly) Greg unhitched his tailored suit pants and unzipped, then turned around as the expensive silk-like wool of his Hugo Boss suit dropped into an expensive puddle on top of his Ferragamo loafers, revealing Greg's tight, cute little executive ass encased in form-fitting white cotton Calvin Klein shorts, then stepped out of his suit pants and kicked off his loafers. As Kevin's heart skipped a beat, Greg then suddenly yanked down his Calvins revealing his lightly hair-flecked asscheeks and dark furry crack between, his assglobes pale white in total contrast to the rest of his sun-bronzed body, and revealing his sun-bronzed muscular hairy legs.

Kevin's heart pounded even more when the arrogant, denuded executive turned around to open his gym bag, revealing his luxuriant jet-black-haired pubic bush and huge flaccid cock and hairy bull-balls to Kevin's surreptitious view and the camera's unhesitatingly intense scrutiny. Even better, Greg was fishing intently for something in his gym bag which he apparently couldn't find right away, and the always impatient executive therefore suddenly bent way over as he searched in his gym bag, his magnificent ass parting all the way and revealing his pink, winking, hair-haloed butch virgin asshole and his hanging hairy bull-balls for a good 30 seconds until Greg straightened up angrily yanking a wad of assorted gym clothes and athletic shoes out of his large gym bag.

Kevin made his own phony search of his own gym bag, anything to stall for time before he had to completely change into his own gym stuff, as Kevin slowly had been removing his own clothes and very slowly putting on his own gym stuff, buying time without being too obvious about it. Greg then proceeded to put on a white jockstrap over his huge equipment, followed by a pair of body-hugging, full-length, wide-striped black and green spandex body wear which covered the full length of his muscular hairy legs and Nike gym shorts over those, as well as a Nike tank-top type tee shirt, the better to reveal his sun-bronzed hairy chest and manly hairy pits so the bimbettes (and probably a lot of appreciative guys unbeknownst to the unimaginative Greg) could get a load of his hunky upper body while he worked out.

As Greg and Kevin were lacing up their athletic shoes, a 6' 3" designer-cut blond business colleague from Greg's firm about 25 or 26, accompanied by another firm colleague, a 6' 2" dark-haired stud about 24, entered the locker bay, Greg heartily addressing the blond as "Hey Thurston, old man, how's it hangin' dude?" and the dark-haired guy as "Hey, and Huntington, too, is the whole firm here today?" "Huge as always, Alexander, old man!" replied Thurston, drawing a round of raucous, braying yuppie guffaws. Greg then asked Thurston and Huntington, "Tell me, Kurt, or Brad, is our fearless leader out for a three-martini lunch, or should I get my ass back to the firm right after my workout, dude?" Kurt Thurston replied "Yeah, one of the babes in word processing said the old fart was off to his "gentleman's club" for lunch, gotta mean 2-3 hours easily, but he told her he expects the Hamilton Report from you on his desk today before he leaves at 4 to `beat the traffic'. Shit, the old fart waltzes in at 11, calls his fellow multi-millionaire buds to arrange lunch at his club, has a 3 hour lunch, farts around in his leather wing-back chair smoking cigars with his old cronies, then splits. Our futures soon, too, no doubt, eh, Greg?, I mean our class deserves an easy life, it's only fitting," opined Kurt truthfully, fully confident of his rightful place in the world as a fully-grown (physically, that is) spoiled brat.

Greg stretched his sun-bronzed arms over the top of his locker, revealing his hairy armpits, as he asked, "What the fuck do you mean, Kurt? Ya mean the old fart expects the Hamilton Report today?? Shit, that only gives me an hour to work out and I'll have to skip lunch altogether!" whined the "poor baby" obviously put out and pouting at the thought of having to actually work hard for a change, not to mention having to cancel his accustomed lingering lunch at a tony yuppie watering hole. Kurt winked at Greg and said "Then you'll have to haul ass, Alexander, won't cha?" said Kurt, Kurt surprisingly reaching over and sticking a finger tickling into one of Greg's exposed, hairy armpits. Greg let out a surprised high-pitched giggle in response and blushingly hissed to Kurt to "cut that the fuck out, asshole, you know that sets me up the fucking wall!" to the sound of Kurt's and Brad's laughter. "Better keep on our good side, Alexander, we know your weakness" laughed Brad. So Greg is extremely ticklish, thought Kevin, hmmmm, the possibilities were endless here!

Greg hurried off to complete a furious workout, obviously intending to throw himself angrily into his workout to take out some of his aggression at being forced to work for a change. Kevin noted with joy that Greg did not lock his locker; he apparently had been furiously searching for his lock and had left it at home by mistake. Hmmm, again.

Kevin therefore contented himself fooling around wasting time in the locker room, eagerly secretly watching and videotaping as Kurt Thurston and Brad Huntington dropped their own executive drawers for him, and for the hidden video camera as well, of course. Kurt obliged, hurriedly discarding his tie and designer shirt revealing his sun-bronzed lightly dirty-blond-haired chest which fanned out lightly over his pectoral ridges over his perfect pointed tits only to trail down in a thin line toward his six-pack abs before disappearing into his suit pants. Brad Huntington doffed his own designer shirt and tie to reveal his own sun-bronzed moderately hairy chest his chest hair fanning out lightly over his sculpted pectorals to cap his man-tits before thinning down into a line of hair that grew down toward his suit-panted crotch. Kurt then dropped his executive suit pants to surprisingly reveal a pair of red Calvin Klein thong bikini underwear! Brad Huntington laughed and pointed at these to Kurt's embarrassment, Kurt explaining that his girlfriend liked to see the outline of his "cute little butt" and not see any underwear lines when he bent his "cute little ass" over, and that was only reason he was wearing them, hissing confidentially that "the damn things ride up, though, and that fucking elastic in the asscrack gooses you every time you bend over!" Brad chortling in his best yuppie fashion and suddenly sharply slapping the exposed smooth left asscheek of Kurt's "cute little ass" making a loud CRACK sound and leaving an angry red handprint on Kurt's buttcheek. Kurt then slipped the intimate apparel off altogether revealing a luxuriant dirty-blond-haired pubic bush, a sizeable cock and big hairy balls, his asscrack split with a fine line of dirty-blond fur. Brad Huntington then removed his own suit pants and boxer shorts to reveal his own lightly dark-hair-flecked ass, lush jet black pubes, big cock and hairy bull balls, Kurt getting even by delivering a resounding slap to Brad's bad-boy right buttcheek. Kurt and Brad changed into jockstraps and workout gear, and then put their clothes in their lockers, temporarily leaving their locks on top of their gym bags. Kurt announced to Brad that he'd go get them some towels while Brad announced his intention to "take a nice long leak".

When Kurt and Brad left the coast clear, Kevin pounced, opening Greg's unlocked locker and retrieving his white Calvins, and reaching into Kurt and Brad's still open lockers and helping himself to Kurt's discarded thong and Brad's conservative executive boxer shorts. Kevin then left the door to the locker recording the action slightly ajar so it could continue to film, then, after taking a hit of their combined musky scent, stowed the stolen underwear in his gym bag in his own locker, and headed for the workout floor. When viewing the tape later that day, Kevin watched how Kurt and Brad simply returned to their lockers and locked them up, not yet realizing their underwear was missing, and simply proceeded to the workout floor themselves.

Kevin then "cruised" the threesome as they had a hearty, sweaty workout, riding the exercise bikes for 30 minutes then working with free weights and machines. Greg finished first, announcing to Kurt and Brad that he wanted to shower and "take a steam" before he returned to finish his report.

While Kurt and Brad continued working out, Kevin followed Greg back into the locker room. Kevin eagerly secretly watched and videotaped as the sweating Greg removed his Nike tank top tee shirt, his full-length black and green striped spandex body wear and his sweaty jock and gym socks, neatly storing the steaming mass in a plastic bag provided by the health club, only to pad his sweating self off to the showers and sauna, all caught on videotape.

Kevin promptly snatched up the plastic bag of goodies and, while Greg showered, Kevin lucked out and no one showed up in the particular locker bays while he proceeded to cut tiny pinholes and some holes the size of a finger in strategic places in Greg's Hugo Boss suit pants. Kevin also determined that Greg had not brought a change of underwear with him in his gym bag, so he would have to go without shorts the rest of the day!

When Greg returned, Kevin let the video record the proceedings, Greg fuming and cursing about the loss of his sweaty gym stuff, alternately accusing the "wetback help" and "Goddamned fuckin faggots!" for his loss. Greg hurriedly dressed into his executive suit, searched frantically for his missing shorts, gave up, apparently thought about asking his buds for a spare pair but was too embarrassed to admit the need to do so, and so departed, not even noticing the fact that tantalizing glimpses of his ass, pubes, and even his balls were visible at times from the strategically cut holes in his executive pants. Kevin overheard Kurt and Brad laughing at the gym when Greg was not there, laughing at how Greg had walked around the office that way trying to figure out why the office women were giggling, only to feel a draft and realize that he had even caught a hole in the buttcheek of his pants on a nail and had ripped a huge hole exposing his pompous ass to the world!

Kevin was amused when Kurt and Brad returned from their own sweaty workouts, only to strip down for the hidden video, also placing their sweaty gym stuff into plastic bags, then padding off bareass to the showers, all caught on video. Kevin then quickly snatched up these plastic bags as well and locked them in his locker, then killed time till Kurt and Brad returned to discover the loss of their own sweaty gym stuff, cursing "fucking fags" as they suited up and left, all caught on video.

Later that evening, Kevin invited some gay friends over and they each had a field day watching the hidden video while simultaneously sniffing each of the arrogant Greg, Kurt and Brad's sweaty gym shorts, tee-shirts and jocks as the stuck-up trio unknowingly bent way over for the camera or otherwise unwittingly exposed their most intimate areas to the camera to the gay guys' guffaws.

Kevin decided the next day to set up an appropriate retribution on the arrogant Gregory Alexander III. Kevin got a kick out of showing still photos of his hidden video of Greg to the health club parking lot attendant, Jose, Jose laughing out loud and pointing at the embarrassing photos of the arrogant shithead bareass naked, especially the ones showing Greg bending over and revealing his hairy asshole and hanging bull-balls for the camera, and/or those showing his swinging cock. Jose also liked the ones that caught the supposedly high-class dude picking his nose, scratching his big, hairy balls, and scratching his hairy, sweaty armpits. Jose was still furious at the tongue-lashing he had received from the swaggering Greg, and told Kevin that he would be only too happy to join in any revenge on the dude. Kevin outlined the elements of his "plot" to "get" Greg, which included the use of further videotaping to ensure the cocky Gregory Alexander III's silence and cooperation in the future, since Jose was naturally concerned about losing his job.

The 24-year-old, 5'10" Jose was married and had three kids to support, and was naturally concerned about losing his job. Kevin knew that Jose was allowed by the management to use the health club facilities after closing, and it was clear that he was using them to good effect; the dude was obviously very defined and buff as revealed by his tight-fitting parking lot attendant shirt. Kevin couldn't help but admire the dude's physique and the fact that Jose had more body hair than most Latinos, noting the hair on his forearms, the tufts sprouting from the top of his shirt, and the flashes of hairy armpits Jose inadvertently gave as he held up the still photos for closer inspection or as he expressively recalled his unfair treatment by the stuck-up Gregory Alexander III.

Kevin told Jose that he had heard (seen even, although he did not admit this) that Greg was extremely ticklish, and suggested that Greg's comeuppance should involve tying the dude up naked and tickling him. Jose's dark eyes lit up with a sadistic gleam and a knowing smile. Although Kevin knew for a fact that Jose spoke perfect English, he deliberately put on a bit of an accent to say, "Teeecklish, eh? Yeah, I would love to see that `son of beach' squirm his Anglo, white-boy ass off! Yeah, watch that fucker twist and shout and beg us to stop, like my Conchita does when she gets on my bad side and I `teeeckle' her into submission!" Kevin agreed that it would be hot, and revealed the rest of his "plan". Kevin also convinced Jose to help him set up hidden video cameras throughout the locker room and the shower/jacuzzi areas of the health club after hours.

Management at the health club knew that Jose worked out after hours at the health club on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and expected him to use the facilities only on those days, although this was never said in so many words. Jose therefore set up the hidden videos with Kevin's help late Tuesday night when the place was otherwise deserted. Jose had, unbeknownst to management, obtained a copy of the key to the health club from one of the Latino maintenance men. Kevin and Jose even fortuitously placed hidden videos in the private massage rooms.

Kevin learned from Jose that the hard-nosed health club manager was known to use the club facilities after hours, especially on Wednesdays and Sundays, when the club closed at 9 p.m. Kevin suggested to Jose that Jose might "practice" on the uppity health club manager before they "got" Greg Alexander III.

Jose had time-activated the hidden videos throughout the locker room area the night before. On the following rainy night, Wednesday, Jose, clad in his gym workout gear, then watched from his parking lot cubicle outside the still brightly lit (but officially closed) glass-fronted health club, where he could clearly see the health club manager, Brent Powers, working out. The place appeared to be deserted except for Powers and one Personal Trainer, whom Jose knew was Mark Peterson. Mark was a 6' 4" conceited, totally stuck-up narcissist, always admiring his perfect 25-year-old body in any available mirror.

Jose watched until the sweaty manager, Brent Powers, finished his workout and walked into the locker room and out of sight. Jose was also happy to see that Mark Peterson was busy, distracted on one of the computers.

Jose waited several minutes more, then silently let himself in with the copy of the key he had obtained. Jose padded to the locker room, passing right by where Mark was busy at a computer in one of the staff office cubicles. Mark was not working late but rather turned out to be paying rapt attention to a hetero porn site on the Internet, Jose smiling to see Mark rubbing the crotch of his gym shorts as he was glued to the screen watching busty nude babes do their thing, no doubt at the health club's expense.

Jose entered the locker room in his gym clothes, carrying his gym bag full of goodies. Jose noted with amusement the manager's discarded gym clothes in a heap on the floor. Jose found Brent all alone and obviously naked in the huge, lavish jacuzzi that seated 20. Brent's jet-black-haired chest arched out of the bubbling, hot water as he reclined back over the edge of the jacuzzi, revealing the deepest recesses of his hairy, wet armpits. Brent's crotch was temporarily obscured by the bubbling water. Jose cleared his throat causing Brent to pop open his eyes, then suddenly hop up off the underwater jacuzzi bench and walk right through the cover of the bubbling water until he was up against the other wall of the jacuzzi, obviously in an attempt to try to protect his privacy. Brent yelled out "Jose! What the fuck are you doing here? We agreed to Tuesdays and Thursdays only! C'mon , dude, you can't use the club tonight!"

Jose replied, using the put-on accent again, since that was what the manager expected, "Sorry, Seen-yore Powers, I forgeet eet was Wednesday, seen-yore! Ay, Santa Maria, I go. First you neeed, how you say, a towel, no?"

Fuming, Brent merely kept his naked body pressed against the wall of the jacuzzi in an obvious effort to protect his modesty and maintain his supreme managerial status at the health club. Powers was obviously peeved that his (in his view) underling, low-class Latino hired help had caught the manager bareass. Red-faced, Brent replied "No, I don't fuckin' need a towel, yet, Jose, now just get the fuck outta here and don't let this happen again!"

Playing dumb, Jose said "No, seen-yore Powers, I een-sist, seen-yore, eet ees my dooty, seen-yore, as your humble eemployee, seen-yore! Come, here is the towel, seen-yore!" Jose unwrapping one of the many white gym towels provided for patrons and holding it up for the pompous Brent Powers.

Brent, torn between protecting his mo desty from the view of the lowly employee, and convinced that, as manager, he was entitled to being served and fawned over, Brent found himself with no choice but to climb up the steps out of the jacuzzi, revealing his lush, jet-black-haired pubic bush, big cock and hairy bull-balls and sun-bronzed, muscular hairy legs, and in the mirror behind, revealing his white, hair-flecked bubble butt split by a line of dark fur, all caught on hidden video, as was, undoubtedly, Brent's earlier stripping in the locker room, as well as his showering.

Blushing, Brent quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and accompanied Jose back into the locker room, Brent waving Jose off and telling him to leave again. Jose pretended to comply, heading out of the locker room. As he left the locker room, the 6' 4" Personal Trainer, Mark Peterson, was striding in, Mark snottily saying "Hey, what the fuck are you doin' here, asshole? It's Wednesday, you stupid fuckin' wetback! Get the fuck outta here, Pee-dro! I'm telling you, Brent, we never shoulda let this fucker use the gym, getting his filthy Latino sweat all over everything and all!"

Jose told Mark "sorry, seen-yore, I am leaving, seen-yore, and my name ees Jose, not Pedro, seen-yore!"

"All you fuckin' beaners are "Pee-dros' to me, asshole! Get the fuck outta my gym, now!!"

Jose passed by the darkened TV room opposite one of the massage cubicles and pretended to leave, making a loud noise for the benefit of Mark and Brent as he made the sound of banging the locked front door, only to re-trace his steps and hide in the darkened TV room opposite the "private" massage cubicle. Jose could clearly hear the voices of Brent and Mark as they spoke in the locker room.

Jose heard Brent Powers complaining to Mark about Jose's having gotten in on the wrong night. Apparently, each one assumed that the other had let Jose in, so there would be no discovery of Jose's duplicate key. Brent further was complaining that he had to go to a specially-called corporate meeting of the chain of luxurious health clubs that night, complaining that the meeting was scheduled late at night so as to allow managers from far-flung clubs to travel to the corporate headquarters which was nearby for Brent. That gave Brent another hour or so to kill. Mark razzed Brent about how Mark knew that Brent's wife was out of town this week, "so you're a free man, eh, Brent?" inquired Mark leeringly.

Brent complained that although he was "free" he hadn't had time to sexually harass one of the aerobics babes for sex like he usually did when his wife was away.

Mark noted how he himself loved lording it over the aerobics instructors, who were technically under his management as well, and demanding that they sexually service him regularly to keep their jobs. Mark then diverted the subject to his previous request for a raise. Brent told Mark that it was "no go," that the lavish health club chain supposedly could not afford to pay him more.

Jose could sense that the lack of a raise did not go over well with Mark. This was apparently lost on Brent, however. To Jose's initial surprise, Jose then overheard Mark suddenly express concern that Brent was being overworked, that he looked "real tensed up" and inquiring whether Brent could use a full body massage. Brent knew that Mark was a fully qualified massage therapist and earned extra money by performing massages on tensed-up executives. The arrogant Brent fell for Mark's own little plot, agreeing that he could use a massage before the corporate meeting at a nearby office building.

Jose was secretly amused as he watched from the darkened TV room as Mark led the health club manager, Brent Powers, into the massage room opposite, placing him face down on the massage table clad only in his white gym towel. Jose watched as Mark bent over to apply heated, sandalwood-scented massage oil onto Brent's sun-bronzed, muscular back amused at how Mark's tight white gym shorts clearly revealed the outline of his jockstrap under them. Jose's view of the proceedings was somewhat obscured by Mark's beefy torso which was encased in the gym's green Polo-type shirt with "Personal Instructor" emblazoned on its back in large white letters, but Jose knew the hidden video was whirring away disguised in the clock radio next to the massage table.

Mark proceeded to knead Brent's tight, sun-bronzed muscles with the massage oil, from the back of his neck, down to his sun-bronzed spine, then kneaded in concentric circles over and over the expanse of Brent's back, running his strong oiled hands over each other in rhythmic, soothing, circular motions, to the sound of Brent's ooos and ahhhhs as his back muscles totally relaxed. Mark then "accidentally" spilled a little too much oil over the small tuft of jet-black hair growing in the small of the health club manager's sun-bronzed back, and onto the towel, Mark dashing the towel away suddenly, announcing that he did not want to get oil on the towel, Jose being rewarded with a glimpse of his boss's bare, lightly hair-flecked ass and watching as drops of oil slid sensuously down into the furry crack of his arrogant boss's bare butt, Brent arching his butt in mounting lust as the glistening oil slid down his asscrack and right over his hair-haloed virgin asshole, then dripping down to coat his hairy bull-balls.

Mark then slid his strong, sun-bronzed hot-oiled hands over the cheeks of the manager's humpy butt, again sliding his oiled hands over and over each other in concentric circles all over his boss's lightly hair-flecked buttmounds, kneading and separating them and exposing his furry asscrack to the ventilation system's secret caress, Brent's wide-open, pink, winking butthole getting a sensuous downdraft from the overhead vent.

Mark then oiled and kneaded and massaged each of Brent's long, sun-bronzed muscular legs, kneading the hairy flesh in concentric circles as he worked his way down over the backs of his sun-bronzed hairy thighs and calves to Brent's bare pink size 12 feet, which he expertly massaged, cracking the tension from each of his boss's big feet and cracking the toes with his hot-oiled hands. Mark then slid a sensuous finger over the soles a little too fast, causing Brent to giggle and pull his feet away. Hmmmm.

Mark then rolled Brent over on his back on the massage table, his hands over his handsome head revealing his heaving hairy chest, and hairy armpits, Mark noting that "Hmm, Mr. Powers, it looks like you're popping a bit of a woody! Don't worry. Happens all the time. I even give some of the execs here at the club a hand job for an extra fee "our little secret" as they say."

"Oh, yeahh, Mark, yeah go ahead, do it, give me a hand job, I need to get my rocks off, that would really ease my tensions. This feels sooo damn goood, dude! Don't tell anyone about this, though ! Yeah, get on with the massage too, yeah"

Mark then applied more hot oil to the slippery manager's hairy chest and arms and even into his hairy armpits, rubbing and kneading and massaging over his hairy chest, making the arrogant boss's man-tits stand at attention in eraser-head erections, Brent involuntarily ooooing and ahhhing at the sensation. Mark then worked lower, over Brent's six-pack abdominals, Brent reacting like he had received an electrical shock and giggling whenever Mark teased his ribs or sides.

Mark then massaged the fronts of Brent's hairy thighs and calves and back down to his bare feet, deliberately avoiding his cock and balls.

Finally, Mark oiled up his boss's big cock and hairy balls and began to jack his boss's cock. Mark suddenly firmly attached the now out-of-it Brent's wrists and ankles to the massage table, telling him he "didn't want him to fall off at the crucial moment!"

When Brent was tightly strapped down, however, Mark suddenly stopped, announcing that Brent "had better think long and hard about that raise, dude, `cause you're not getting' off till you agree to it" only to announce that Mark had a date later that night and intended to take a nice long hot shower, sauna and jacuzzi while Brent waited in frustration to consider Mark's raise! Mark also went to his locker for a camera and took some Polaroid snapshots of his naked, bound, horny boss for "insurance".

Brent thrashed and cursed in his bondage to no avail, telling Mark he was "fired" ordering Mark to set him free and/or to "get him off" immediately, that he had that fuckin' corporate meeting to get to , this was blackmail, etc. etc." to the sound of Mark's laughter as Mark departed into the locker room area to clean up. Mark had first blindfolded Brent "so he could think clearly" while he was gone.

Jose waited a minute or two, then entered the massage room with his gym bag full of tricks. Brent heard the slight noise and said "Thank God you came to your senses, asshole! Let me off this fuckin' table now!"

Jose said nothing but instead extracted tapering feathers which he suddenly applied to his arrogant Anglo boss's helplessly bound bare feet, running the feathers over the delicate, pink, helpless soles of his boss's tied-down soles, causing his employer to erupt in shrieks, squeaks, pleas and squeals as he wildly thrashed in his bonds, his half-hard massage-oiled cock flopping wildly onto his washboard abdominals and hairy thighs, making it harder and firmer against his will.

Jose kept up his foot torture till Brent thought he would pass out from the shock. Jose next suddenly delved one of the feathers into each of his white boss's helplessly exposed hairy armpits, using the massage oil to make them slide all the more smoothly against the erogenous, excruciatingly exposed flesh of his employer's naked armpits, while simultaneously trailing the other feather down the sole of one foot, making Brent shout "NOOOO!!!! STOPPPPPPP!!! NOT THERE TOOO!!!! NOT AT THE SAME TIME!!! NOOOO!!! STOPPP!! GIVE A CHANCE TO... CATCH...MY...BREATH!!!! OH MY GAWDDDDDDDD!!!!!! STOPPPP!!!!"

Jose then trailed one feather over each of his boss's hair-haloed man-tits, making them stand up at attention and causing Brent to mewl with undisguised lust as unbidden passion pulsed throughout his hunky, helplessly exposed body, all the while tickling the bound dude's size 12 feet.

Jose then used one toothbrush to devilishly tease the glans of his employer's pulsing cock while he used another on his boss's hanging, hairy bull-balls, alternately delving down into his arrogant Anglo boss's furry asscrack, until Brent's big cock was rock hard, Jose teasing his boss's exposed hair-haloed virgin asshole with one toothbrush, then plunging the head of it into the virgin hole, teasing his employer beyond his limit of tolerance, until Brent announced that "OH, NOOOOO!!! YOU'RE MAKING ME DO IT!!!! I'M FUCKIN GONNA SHOOT MY BIG PENT-UP LOAD!!!! OH, YEAHHHHH!!!!", as bolt after steaming hot bolt of his boss's pressurized jizz suddenly flew up out of his hairy bull-balls and splat out of his big cock in ropes of white crotch-rockets, his pent-up Anglo lava blasting volcanically out all over the room, up to the low ceiling, onto his hairy chest and into and over his face.

Jose used the towel to wipe up the mess, feeding his boss his own cum and forcing him to swallow it by pinching his deserving nose, then wiping any excess off of him, so that Brent appeared more or less the way Mark had left him. Jose knew he didn't have much more time because he could hear Mark turning off the shower for the second time after his sauna and jacuzzi.

Jose then went back into the darkened TV room and waited, looking forward to viewing the tapes of Mark stripping and showering. For Jose, the whole idea of such a thing was not overtly sexual, but more of a power trip at getting back at his tormentors, although he had to acknowledge that that also gave him a type of sexual charge as well!

Mark re-appeared fully dressed in a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and jeans, ready for his date, at the entrance to the massage room. Mark had listened with amusement at Brent's renewed pleas to be set free as he dressed. Brent demanded to be set free immediately, and cursed Mark for "tickling the shit out of me and making me cum, you asshole!" Mark, truly baffled, thought his employer had really "lost it" and tried to explain to Brent that he didn't do any such thing, but Brent was so furious he wasn't really listening.

Mark, realizing that not much time remained before his date, or before Brent was due for his corporate meeting, removed Brent's blindfold and freed his employer. As far as Mark was concerned, if Brent had gotten off himself somehow while Mark was gone, so much the better. Mark held up the Polaroids and asked if Brent had come to his senses and decided to give him his raise.

As Brent furiously dressed for his corporate meeting, spraying cologne on to mask any tell-tale scents, he fumingly told Mark that he would be lucky to keep his job at all after the stunt he pulled, and bluffed that he didn't give a flying fuck whether Mark showed the Polaroids to anyone! Mark, fearing for his prestigious Personal Trainer job (and all its sexual harassment possibilities with the aerobics babes) and realizing he had gone too far apparently for nothing, begged Brent not to fire him.

Brent Powers, now fully dressed in his business suit, re-assumed his mastery of the place and asserted his authority by suddenly saying "Mark, you've just gone too fuckin' far this time! You're going to have to be disciplined for your insubordination! Strip!! Fuckin' take all of your clothes off, NOW!!!"

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding, right, Brent? You're not serious!" said Mark, wide-eyed.

"The hell I'm not serious. Either take your punishment or get your ass out of here never to return!" said Brent.

Left with no options, Mark whined about his date, then said "Why do ya want me to strip, Brent? This is like so humiliating! I'm your best Personal Trainer for God's sake!! Don't make me do this!"

"Strip!! Now!!" was Brent's reply.

Blushing deeply, bully-boy Mark Peterson, Personal Trainer Extraordinaire was forced to begin stripping bareass naked, to Jose's private amusement.

Mark pulled the Polo shirt over his head revealing his sun-bronzed, incredibly defined torso, revealing his carefully and meticulously sculpted chest over which a light covering of dirty-blond-haired body hair fanned, spreading from the center of his chest over his pointed man-tits, then narrowing into a fine line which danced down his laddered abdominals before disappearing into his tight blue jeans, also revealing the hairy depths of his dirty-blond-haired armpits as he raised the shirt over his head. The Personal Trainer obviously kept himself in A-1 peak condition; the dude was all muscle and 6' 4' of it at that!

Mark again begged his boss Brent Powers not to have to continue, but Brent was adamant, complaining that Mark was taking too damn long and to "fuckin' STRIP, NOW!!!"

Mark therefore unhitched his belt and popped open the button of his jeans, then unzipped, only to blushingly pull down his tight jeans to reveal his sun-bronzed, incredibly muscular, dirty-blond-hair covered legs leaving him clad in only his packed snow-white Calvin Klein briefs.

Mark again asked Brent to reconsider, that Mark was a "Personal Trainer, for God's sake, that this was just too fuckin' humiliating," to no avail, the arrogant Mark being forced to drop his Calvins as well, revealing his huge flaccid cock and dirty-blond-haired bull-balls and snow-white ass which was in total contrast to the rest of his hunky sun-bronzed body, his cute bubble butt split by a fine line of dirty-blond-haired fur. Jose was privately amused at the pompous, prejudiced Personal Trainer getting his comeuppance, laughing as the narcissistic Anglo dude inadvertently exposed his most private orifice, his tiny pink, winking hair-haloed virgin asshole, as he bent over to remove his shorts, both to Jose, and through the video, to the entire world. Mark promptly modestly clasped his beefy sun-bronzed hands over his privates, but Brent only ordered him to put his hands over his head.

Brent, prepared to head out into the rainy night, taunted the big, beefy Personal Trainer, deliberately poking his naked body with the pointed "business-end" of his umbrella as he stood across from Mark, poking the umbrella tip into Mark's hairy armpits, causing him to flinch and gasp (hmmm!), then to trail the umbrella tip over his pointed man-tits, then over and into his hair-haloed navel, causing Mark to gasp again and arch his sun-bronzed muscular back, only to tease and molest the big stud's exposed privates, using the umbrella to flop his big flaccid cock around, all the while laughing and pointing at the big, humiliated stud and telling him what a fool he was to try to blackmail his boss into giving him a raise.

Brent then forced the naked Mark Peterson to crawl on all fours over to where Brent stood in his corporate-suited regalia, forcing the snotty, conceited Personal Trainer to sniff and lick his boss's gray-suit-panted crotch, Mark and Brent both secretly horrified when Brent's cock lurched and throbbed in his pants due to the sheer perversity and power Brent felt over his employee, Mark even alarmed that Brent might actually be a "goddamned faggot" or something. Worse, Mark could detect a distinct scent of dried cum in his boss's crotch; the cologne had only slightly masked that musky scent of man-cum.

Brent then ordered Mark to crawl into the massage room and forced him to climb up onto the massage table, where Brent securely tied his Personal Trainer employee on his back to the massage table, just as Mark had done to Brent.

While Mark spewed out a stream of curses and demands to be let go, Brent laughed his head off, telling Mark that he had to leave now for the corporate meeting, but would be back "in a couple of hours, enjoy" but that he "would be back to do everything to you that you did to me, and then some, including whupping the Personal Trainer's bare butt!" Brent duct-taped the dude's mouth shut to stem his braying flow of curses.

Mark screamed his head off through his duct tape gag into the "empty" building as Brent departed. Jose let him scream and shake the massage table, avidly watching as the prejudiced, Latino-bashing Personal Trainer thrashed away wildly in his bondage, working up a lather of bull-sweat, Jose watching (and the video recording) as the powerful dude strained every muscle of his hunky sun-bronzed body in an effort to free himself, to no avail. Jose was amused as the big Anglo oaf pulled hard at his wrist restraints, which only resulted in revealing the sweaty depths of his manly, hairy armpits and making the veins in his massive arms pulse as his muscles pumped up to their fullest extent, but it was "no go". Jose also watched as a trickle of sweat descended from Mark's lush pubes over his straining bull-balls and then down into his hair-split asscrack and onto his revealed, winking little virgin asshole.

Even better, all the straining and frustration combined with the fact that Mark's huge flaccid cock was bouncing around on his hairy thighs and six-pack abs, resulted in his big cock going half-hard already. (hmmmm!)

Jose then decided to reveal himself and emerged from the darkened TV room only to enter the massage room to the denuded Personal Trainer's horror and outrage, Mark utterly humiliated at being caught balls-ass naked in front of a "lowly" Latino employee! Jose removed the duct tape gag whereupon Mark yelled out, "You!! You goddamned fuckin' wetback beaner! I ordered you out of my goddamned gym an hour ago, you asshole!" Suddenly recalling his current position, however, the intellectually challenged Mark realized that his usual approach might not be put to best advantage tonight, and altered his initial reaction to "Well, I mean, you were supposed to go and all, but that's OK, you see a gang of punks broke in here looking for something to rob, and, er, tied me up here. C'mon Pee-dro, set me free, huh, dude, you'll be a hero, c'mon do it."

Jose began with "Aw, seen-yore, you are in mooch-o trouble, no? Joo wan' me to set you lee-bray, free, eh, boss-man? Ees thees what yoo desire, no? do I comprende?"

"Yeah that's it, Pee-dro, just undo these bonds and set me free; I'll even give a whole buck, dude, just hurry up and do it yeah!"

"Aw, seen-yore, I don't know eef I should. You were, how you say, a son-of beach to me, earlier, yes?" said Jose, then changing into to normal speech to Mark's horror, "WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I SET YOUR SLIMEBALL PREJUDICED ASS FREE, PETERSON? NO WAY, ASSHOLE!! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS BIG TIME, YOU FUCKER!!!"

Ballistic with rage, the red-faced snarling Mark Peterson, Personal Trainer Extraordinaire erupted, saying "You fuckin' wetback low-class beaner!! Since when can you speak English, you asshole? Now you listen up and listen up good, Pee-dro, READ MY FUCKIN' LIPS, DUDE, YOU SET ME FREE THIS GODDAMNED SECOND OR I WILL PERSONALLY DE-BALL YOUR MEXICAN HIDE!!! YOU'RE FUCKIN' FIRED!!! I"LL HAVE YOUR FUCKIN' ASS DEPORTED!!! I'LL CALL IMMIGRATION!!!!"

Jose laughed in the prejudiced asshole's face, telling him to "smile, dude, you're on candid camera!" that the entire proceeding had been videotaped and would continue to be, and that if Mark breathed a word about any of this to anyone, that tape would be posted on the Internet, sold in video stores and distributed to all the club members and Mark's fellow Personal Trainers! Utterly shocked at the power the "low-class beaner" suddenly had over him, Mark could do nothing but stare incredulously as Jose proceeded to approach Mark's naked, bound hunky body with two feathers and a couple of toothbrushes, Mark sneering at Jose, an asking "Whatcha gonna do, asshole, brush my fuckin teeth? And what the fuck are the fuckin' feathers for? You killed a fuckin' pigeon in the parking lot for your dinner or something, you low-life Mexican scumbag?"

Mark found out what the feathers and toothbrushes were for, as Jose descended on his bound, naked body, lightly delving the feathers into Mark's upraised totally vulnerable hairy armpits, swirling the sweaty funky hair there in concentric circles over the sensitive flesh, causing the snarling Mark to jump like he'd been shocked with electricity, gasp, then begin to curse and yell for Jose to "Hey STOPP THAT, YOU FUCKER!! SHIT, THAT FUCKIN TICKLES YOU ASSHOLE, C'MON STOPP!! HEY NOOOO!!! I SAID STOPPP!! THAT'S AN ORDER YOU FUCKER!!!" to no avail. Jose then delved the feathers over the Personal Trainer's handsome face forcing him to smell his own BO, over his wind-burned lips, teasing his tongue as he tried to curse, then over his perfect nose, eyelids and into his ears, maddeningly tickling the pompous dude's handsome face, only to descend over his throat in teasing concentric circles, then down over his hunky collarbone, back to his pits then down to his hair-haloed man-tits, the big, strapping bully-boy Personal Trainer unable to do anything to avoid the teasing tickling of his hunky exposed body. Mark's tits stood at attention and he was forced to emit ooos and ahhs of pleasure a the sensation, his mercenary cock again beginning to expand and fill with blood as all the stimulation of Mark's erogenous zones began to get to him. The hetero Mark was utterly dumbfounded that he was becoming sexually aroused by the fucker's ministrations, but there was no denying it.

The feathers next danced down Mark's sun-bronzed ribs as Jose counted "uno-dos-tres, etc." as Mark squirmed and squealed anew, arching his back and futilely trying to escape the sweet, sensuous caress of the damn feathers as they mercilessly goosed and tickled his ribs and sides, only for one to delve over, then into, his manly belly button, again causing him to arch his back and beg Jose to stop to no avail.

Jose initially danced the feathers and toothbrushes all around but not onto Mark's now straining cock and rising hairy bull-balls, teasing his equipment to beat the band, Jose loving how his big, strapped-down, Anglo boss-man's cock jumped and lurched with unfulfilled excitement in imminent anticipation of being pleasantly stroked, tickled or teased, only for Jose to transfer his instruments of supreme tickle torture elsewhere, leaving the pompous, conceited narcissist secretly begging to be touched there, utterly frustrated and unsatisfied. Jose even blew his hot breath on the dude's cock and musky-scented bull-balls, from a discreet-hetero distance, of course, causing the Anglo bastard's cock to jump and jive big time in utter sexual frustration, throbbing with unfulfilled desire.

Jose then decided to tease the stud directly, suddenly zeroing in on his Neanderthal privates, driving the intellectually challenged but physically perfect specimen up the wall with insane lust, the "anticipating a fuck date" cock of the Personal Trainer throbbing with passion as Jose teased the arrogant dude's cock and balls with the feathers and toothbrushes, the toothbrushes catching on the pubic hair growing on the dude's hairy bull-balls, yanking the hairs right out of the dude's balls to his howls of protest, only to tease an d goose and feather-stroke the drooling stud's rock-hard, dripping pecker, till the out-of-it dude was begging for sexual release, only for Jose to devilishly stop, laughing with sadistic glee, his own dark eyes glinting with diabolic revenge at leaving the big, prejudiced Anglo boss frustrated and begging for a blast-off to no avail.

Jose next trailed his feathers and toothbrushes down the stud's hairy, muscular sun-bronzed legs only to reach the dude's bare, bound size 12 tootsies, Jose running the feathers and then the toothbrushes over the thrashing howling dude's soles, instep and heels, teasing each of his curling toes over and over again up and down up and down back and forth back and forth, also using his own talented fingers, until Mark was thrashing and whining like the big baby he was, begging him to stop, yelling "NOOOO I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE OF THIS FUCKIN SHIT! I'M GONNA FUCKIN PISS OR SHIT OR SOMETHING!! C'MON STOPPP I COULD HAVE A HEART ATTACK!! NOOOO!!! NOT MY FEET!!! NOOOO!!!" only for Jose to suddenly renew random tickle torture all over the dude's exposed torso, his ticklish hairy armpits, his rib, his tits, etc. while his other hand teased and tickled the dude's big, bare feet teasing the pink, utterly vulnerable flesh of those big feet relentlessly causing Mark to erupt with "NOOO STOPPPP!!! PUHLEEZE STOPPP!!! NOT MY FEET!!!! NOT MY PITS AND RIBS AND TITS AND FEEET ALL AT ONCE , NOOOOO!!! STOPPPP!!! I'M FUCKIN JUMPIN OUT OF MY FUCKIN SKIN!!!!! NOOOOOO!!! STOPPP!!! OH MY GODDDDDD!!!!!!! OHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! AIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! EEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!! ARGHHHHHHHHHH!!! OH SHITTTTTTTT!!!!!!!" as the arrogant dude thrashed and squirmed and jumped all over the massage table, balls of bull-sweat cascading down his hunky body and splashing all over the room as the deserving Personal Trainer pulled at his bonds, his eyes bugging wildly as he was driven to near tickle insanity from the intense tickle torture. The big-shot Personal Trainer so contracted his hunky musculature in a manly effort to resist the tickle torture that he even suddenly cut a loud, smelly fart to his undying humiliation, Jose noting how his fucking Anglo fart stunk and threatened that if Mark shit a turd he would make him eat it.

After several more minutes of intense tickle torture, Jose temporarily released Mark's sexy legs, and, before the dumb dude realized it, Jose had raised Mark's legs high in the air and attached them to sturdy hooks behind the massage table which ordinarily held an array of towels and massage oils, etc. This left Mark's manly, private lightly dirty-blond-hair-split snow white humpy bubble butt exposed and spread wide open, and no matter how Mark attempted to try to close his sun-bronzed muscular hairy legs, the big-shot Anglo Personal Trainer's, tiny, pink, winking hair-haloed virgin asshole was shamefully exposed to close inspection, and his still rock-hard cock and hairy bull-balls also hopelessly exposed and vulnerable to tickle torture.

Jose proceeded to first pick up a handy stiff horsehair clothes brush and began whacking his prejudiced Anglo boss's bare upturned butt with it until it was flaming fire engine red and burning like a brushfire and Mark was alternately yelling and cursing at the "fuckin' beaner" and begging him to stop, Jose also whacking that deserving butt with his own open-palmed hand leaving big red hand-prints on the bully's bare butt until there were tears in the macho dude's eyes and he was again begging for mercy, that he would treat Jose (got the name right this time) with respect from now on, he promised!

Jose then trailed the feathers right through the dude's hair-lined asscrack then teasing in concentric circles over and around his Anglo boss's exposed hair-haloed shitter, only to plunge the tip of the feather into that tight, little, never-before-penetrated button, causing Mark to involuntarily gasp and moan with unbidden pleasure, his cock jerking and throbbing on its own in response to this surprisingly pleasant, teasing anal stimulation.

Jose then plunged the feather into the macho dude's now receptive asshole, his clenching tight, little hole seeming to beg for "more, more!" as the big strapping bully actually seemed to be backing his humpy little stinging red bubble butt back onto the invading feather, trying to suck more of the tickling teasing instrument of torture into his hot little butthole as unbidden waves of incredible pleasure coursed through the arrogant Personal Trainer's body as his never-before-utilized prostate came into play, causing the brash dude to moan and groan in lust and drool at the mouth, while his big cock throbbed all the more and his blue-bully-boy-balls churned helplessly away as his wildly gyrating nut oysters churned in frustration, desperately seeking their long-denied release.

Jose merely trailed another feather up towards the bound dude's hairy bull-balls, devilishly teasing the sensitive area between the dude's feather-invaded butthole and his big balls for several seconds before simultaneously teasing and tickling the pimpled sweaty flesh of his boss's big churning balls, teasing each nut sac in turn in teasing concentric circles with sadistic relish, Jose's eyes gleaming in retribution as he relentlessly teased and tickled and goosed his boss-man's blue balls, stimulating his churning nuts while he simultaneously plunged the other feather deeper up his shit-chute, causing him to mewl in unsatisfied lust and hump away onto the feather in his butt trying desperately and futilely to trigger his long-denied orgasm. Meanwhile, the hapless dude's huge pecker throbbed and dripped in frustration, no direct stimulation having satisfied its desperate longing in several minutes, not that that stopped it from its perpetual rock-hardness.

Jose then trailed the other feather teasingly up and down and up and down and back and forth and back and forth over the dude's throbbing boner while simultaneously teasing his butthole with the other feather, until Mark was mewling an begging and thrashing and begging for sexual release, only for Jose to laughingly stop again and again just as his boss was on the very hair's breadth verge of the most overwhelming orgasm of his worthless life.

Jose kept this torture up for several more minutes, then pulled out all the stops and relentlessly tickle tortured the stud at random all over his exposed body, while alternately feather-fucking and feather tickling his throbbing boner and cum-churning blue balls, teasing the glans relentlessly trailing tiny feather ends which had separated from the main body of the feather teasingly over and over and around and around the sensitive head and glans of Mark's red-hot mushroom cockhead until Mark's big bull balls drew up high in his hairy, musky-scented nutbags, Mark's toes curled and cracked as his big size 12s flexed spasmodically, and, with a wild banshee scream, Private Trainer Mark Peterson finally had the orgasm of his life, his humongous pecker contracting wildly, whereupon a sudden whoosh of solid white mancum sprayed up explosively out of his pent-up cock, arcing 10 feet into the air followed by seven more huge volleys of boiling hot lava, huge globs of the funky stuff splattering wildly and messily all over the room, little bursts of jizz separating off from the main volleys into little side explosions of their own, splattering Mark's hairy chest, leaving little white dots of jizz in his hairy, sweaty pits, spraying his arrogant face and down his braying throat, into his hair, and splattering the ceiling and the wall behind the massage table, only for the Personal Trainer's own cum to drip back down on him from the ceiling.

Jose then spent the next hour or so idly tickling the bound stud, blowing his how breath on his exposed body, Mark surprised that his body was even more ticklish after his big cum. Jose then got a wash cloth and teasingly washed his thrashing boss from head to toe, being sure to tease and re-bonerize his hated boss's big cock as he did so, finally leaving the big dude as he found him, re-duct-taping his cursing mouth. Jose then retrieved the videos of the evening's festivities, inserting new tapes to record anything that might occur in the meantime since the recorders were also activated when they detected motion. About half an hour after Jose departed, Brent Powers returned from his corporate meeting and proceeded to tickle torture and re-spank Mark's deserving ass (the redness from Jose's spanking of him had all but disappeared by then), Brent keeping Mark's mouth duct-taped, so Mark could not tell him about Jose's abuse. Jose had threatened exposure of the video tape besides, so Mark didn't dare say anything and had to endure yet more torture from his own boss that night.

The next day the rain had let up. Jose and Kevin then plotted their revenge on the pompous Greg Alexander III. Jose filled Kevin in on the evening's exploits and both were amused to see that the pompous Personal Trainer Mark Peterson was "out sick" that day, apparently temporarily replaced by the equally conceited Vince Camaretti, a 6' 3" Italian Stallion with his jet-black hair in a ponytail and a gold stud in one sun-bronzed ear. Vince was surrounded by a gaggle of admiring, giggling babes, swinging his head a much as possible to thrill them with his manly mane as it swung over his dark green Polo shirt emblazoned with the words "Personal Trainer" on it. Kevin idly noted that they'd have to "set-up" Vince one of these days too. Jose and Kevin had also reviewed the videos of the night before and were therefore also privately amused upon seeing the equally arrogant manager, Brent Powers, strutting around the club importantly in designer shirt and tie, blissfully unaware that anyone had witnessed his own disrobal, showering, jacuzziing, and subsequent tickle torture and orgasm.

Jose had strategically parked his old panel van next to the "handicapped" parking spot that Greg Alexander III always arrogantly used. Kevin and Jose watched as Greg appeared for his usual lunchtime workout, changing into nearly identical gym clothes to the ones Kevin had earlier kept as "souvenirs". Greg hauled on a jockstrap over his naked body, followed by a pair of body-hugging, thigh-length, wide-striped red and black spandex bicycle-type shorts which revealed his muscular hairy legs and Nike gym shorts over those, as well as a Nike tank-top type tee shirt, the better to reveal his sun-bronzed hairy chest and manly hairy pits.

Before following Greg out to the workout floor, Kevin was heartened to notice Personal Trainer Vince Camaretti entering the locker room, apparently through for his shift. Even better, Vince had done an hour on the exercise bikes showing a new bimbette how to work her "cardiovascular system," Vince nimbly running his fingers over her bouncing chest as much as possible as he instructed her. The net result was that the pony-tailed Italian Stallion was covered in sweat; his tight white shorts clinging to his humpy butt and sweat-soaked in the crack and crotch.

Kevin pretended to blow his nose in a nearby mirror as one of the hidden videos recorded Vince pulling off his sweat-soaked dark green Personal Trainer shirt, revealing a sun-bronzed jet-black-haired muscular chest, jet-black body hair fanning out over his broad, perfectly developed pectoral planes then narrowing into a fine line before broadening out as the hair on his six-pack abs disappeared into the confines of his white gym shorts.

Vince next pulled off his white gym shorts, revealing Vince's tight, cute ass and revealing his lightly hair-flecked asscheeks and dark furry crack between, his assglobes pale white in total contrast to the rest of his sun-bronzed body, and revealing his sun-bronzed and very muscular, hairy legs.

Vince next pulled off his sweaty jock strap revealing his luxuriant, jet-black-haired pubic bush and huge flaccid cock and hairy bull-balls to Kevin's secret view and that of the video camera, then plopped all in front of his locker and ran off naked to the showers, his sweaty ponytail released and his long jet-black hair flowing over his shoulders and down his muscular back, his huge cock flopping over his sun-bronzed hairy thighs and his lightly hair-flecked pale asscheeks firmly bouncing and kissing each other as he hurried to shower.

Kevin scooped up the sweaty treasures with their secret cache of stray pubic hairs and musky scents, then locked them in his own gym bag in his locker. More "souvenirs", yeah!!

Kevin then watched Greg work out on the workout floor, watching as Greg did the free weights, machines and exercise bike until he was totally sweat-soaked. Greg returned to his locker to change when his cell phone rang. It was Greg's office telling him that the "old man" wanted a certain report Greg was apparently working on at home. Greg told the office he would have to take the rest of the day off and would work on the report at home instead. Greg looked concerned and obviously decided he would now shower at home instead of at the gym. Cool! Now Kevin would have a sweat-soaked Greg at his disposal. Hmmmm!

Kevin called Jose from his own cell phone, reaching Jose at his cubicle at the parking lot alerting him that Greg was leaving the building. Jose also alerted John, a friend of Kevin's who had agreed to drive Greg's Mercedes off the lot, and whom John's partner, Tom, had dropped off at the gym along with Kevin. Jose had gotten permission to take the afternoon off to "take his pregnant wife to the doctor" and had arranged for a friend to take over at the parking lot, a friend who was "in" on the plot and sworn to secrecy on the basis that he, too, would see what happened to the arrogant, despised Greg Alexander III.

Jose watched as Greg left the building, headed for his giant Mercedes, Jose seeing Kevin in "hot pursuit" (literally) close behind. Jose pretended to see Greg coming for the first time and hauled himself out into the tight space between the side of his own old van and Greg's fancy car, Jose declaring "Ay, seen-yore, I so sorry, seen-yore, I move my van for you, yes?" , Greg replying "Yeah, get this shit-heap beaner-mobile away from my Benz, dude, and make it snappy! I've got an important business matter to attend to, you fuckin' wetback!" Greg never saw nor heard Kevin's approach from behind in the hidden space between the van and the big car, Kevin expertly placing the chloroform over Greg's arrogant braying mouth in mid-expletive, Jose watching as the pompous dude's eyes first bugged out in horror, then rolled up under his eyelids as the big guy's knees went weak and Kevin caught the dude under each of his sweaty, musky armpits, and dragged "Sleeping Beauty". Kevin threw John the keys to the Mercedes and Jose opened the back of the van, Kevin hoisting the big guy over his own shoulders like a sack of potatoes, patting his sweaty ass and asscrack before unceremoniously dumping Greg into the back of the van and climbing in, whereupon Jose shut the back of the van. Luckily no one noticed any of this; it happened too quickly and in an area not easily visible to passersby.

Jose eagerly gunned the van into action, while Kevin blindfolded Greg, "just in case". Kevin didn't want Greg knowing how to find Kevin's house or his "playroom". Meanwhile, John drove the Mercedes to Greg's house at the address listed on the registration, and had Tom meet him over there, John dropping the keys into Greg's mailbox with his leather-gloved hands.

Kevin had a field day in the back of the van with the mostly unconscious Greg on the ride to the "playroom". Kevin placed the front of his own gym-clad body over the front of the sweating Greg's, relishing his manly scent, sniffing and licking his hairy armpits as he cuffed the dude's wrists, nuzzling his erect, hair-haloed man-tits with his tongue in concentric circles, while he "dry-humped" his perfect body, grinding his own already hard cock onto the Nike gym shorts, spandex bicycle-type shorts and jock strap of his reclining jock-napped hunk. Kevin even yanked down the sweaty Nike shorts and clinging spandex shorts to reveal Greg's sweaty, musky jockstrap, Kevin nuzzling the musky, sweaty jock-encased balls of his jock-napped stud, licking all over the cup of the jock, smiling as the big hetero stud's cock bounced and jerked and strained against its rubberized confinement, Kevin rolling Greg over onto his six-pack abs so that Kevin could tongue-bathe his humpy, lightly hair-flecked ass, savoring its musky scent, massaging the firm, muscular, pale white assglobes with both hands, separating his fur-lined crack and scrutinizing Greg's hair-haloed, pink winking virgin asshole as a beam of sunlight made a direct hit on his sweaty, private orifice, then running his fingers through the musky crack, teasing that hole, blowing his hot breath on it, as he massaged the jocknapped dude's big cock and hairy balls through the tight jockstrap. Satisfied that he had sampled his long-sought-after stud's most intimate areas up close and personal, Kevin set about binding his hairy ankles, as Jose pulled into Kevin's private back yard. Luckily, Kevin's back yard had a high wall around it and one-story houses on either side, so no nosy neighbors could see what was going on.

Jose and Kevin then placed the not quite conscious Greg over Kevin's shoulders like a sack of potatoes again, Kevin again patting his sweaty ass, as Jose and Kevin took their jock-napped treasure down into Kevin's sound-proofed basement "playroom".

Kevin and Jose placed the sagging, nearly unconscious stud into new wrist restraints on motorized pulleys which were winched up to stretch the dude's sun-bronzed muscular hairy arms to their greatest extent, revealing the depths of the pockets of his musky, sweating jet-black-haired armpits, then readied his wide-spread, hairy ankles to be bound into similar positions in ankle restraints in "X" like fashion.

Kevin went behind the sweating, stretched-out dude and yanked on each strap of his Nike tank top till with a funky RRRRRRIPPPPPPP!!! sound the cloth fell away from his hunky, sweaty, body, revealing his heaving hairy chest and sun-bronzed back. Jose then merrily yanked down the bound dude's gym shorts and spandex bicycle shorts and off his ankles as "souvenirs" for Kevin, before securing the ankle restraints. Greg's athletic shoes and socks were removed and his bare size 12 feet rested about 2 inches from the ground.

Greg was now clad in only his sweaty jock-strap, which Kevin scissored off, putting the sweaty, stray-pubic-haired pouch to his nose and face and inhaling the musky scent, then placing it with his other "souvenirs".

Kevin then blindfolded the arrogant Greg only to douse him with a bucket of ice water, causing him to splutter and, once he fully came to, to begin to curse and demand to know "Where am I? Why the fuck am I fuckin' bareass naked, goddamnit!? What the flying fuck do you want from me? Who put you up to this?," etc. all to deaf ears, Greg struggling wildly in his bonds emphasizing his recently pumped-up musculature, but accomplishing nothing else. Naturally, Kevin was videotaping all this. Better, all the struggling only caused his big cock to flop around, Greg giving himself a half hard-on for his futile efforts, Greg realizing this and blushing in even greater humiliation.

Jose couldn't resist secretly reaching out a feather to tease the glans of that bonerizing member, causing the blindfolded Greg to jump and thrash as the feather hit its mark, Greg cursing the "goddamned faggot, stop that, you asshole, what do you want, why are you doing this to me?" to utter silence, Greg furious that the ever-so-light-it-was-maddening touch of the feather on the ultrasensitive underside of his mighty cockhead was causing his traitorous prick to fill with blood against his will, his passionate, bullying blood boiling, yet somehow all that anger focused itself into running to the tip of his twat-taming penis, pulsing, throbbing and becoming heavy with his arrogant "blue-blood", Greg forced to let a moan of indescribable pleasure escape his braying lips as embarrassing, unbidden sexual arousal suddenly over came him. Kevin noted with amusement that the dude's hair-haloed man-tits suddenly bonerized all on their own in response, and that Alexander's big bull-balls were rising up in their noble nut sacs as the patrician bully's body began to be sexually aroused against his will for the amusement of he knew-not-who!

Kevin then joined in, suddenly tickling from behind Greg with five twitching fingers of each hand into the musky, sweaty depths of Greg's hairy armpits while Jose teased the glans of the prejudiced Anglo's throbbing cock with one feather while he suddenly teased the tip of another into Greg's ribs and sides, then his hair-haloed navel, prompting Kevin to reach down and tweak and pull on the hair around Greg's pointed man-tits, causing Greg to howl and then squirm and screech bloody murder as his patrician body was over-stimulated, the various, unpredictable teasing touches all over his blindfolded body causing his bad-boy skin to crawl, as fire-flames of lust engulfed the erogenous nerve endings of his goose-pimpled skin, Greg yelling "NOOOOO!!!!! STOPPPPP!!! WHAT DO YOU FUCKIN WANT FROM ME YOU GODDAMNED FUCKING FAGGOTS??? STOPPP!!! AIEEEE!!!NOT TWO AT ONCE, NOOOOO!!!! STOPPPPP!!! I'VE GOT MONEY!!!! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME???? ARGHHHHHH!!! OH SHITTTTT!!!!! OH FUCK!!!!" as Jose had to jump out of the way when Greg's wild muscular contractions combined with the fact that he had downed about a quart of designer Evian water while he worked out, resulted in the proud, patrician Greg Alexander III's losing control of his manly bladder, his cock suddenly erupting in a stream of yellow piss that splattered the floor and wall of the basement playroom, as the humiliated hot-shot was forced to relieve himself against his will to his utter undying humiliation and to the sound of Jose and Kevin's laughter and ap plause, Jose and Kevin waiting till the flow subsided. Jose washed down the basement floor with a handy hose for that purpose, and Jose and Kevin then simply renewed their tickle torture with greater fury, since Greg had managed not to piss on his own body to any appreciable degree.

Greg shrieked anew as Jose renewed his glans, rib, navel and side tickle torture while Kevin assaulted from the rear, Kevin hitting the pits, tits and sun-bronzed muscular back, Kevin later spanking Greg's deserving ass with a mean leather paddle and his open palmed hands until his bad-boy buttcheeks were flaming fire engine red, then delving a feather of his own down Greg's furred asscrack and over and around and then into his virgin, hair haloed hole, while Jose concentrated on the dude's cockhead and swinging, hairy bull-balls, until Greg was again pleading for mercy from his unknown captors, "PUHLEEZE STOPPP!!! I'LL DO ANYTHING!!!! AIEEEEEE!!!! OH MY GODDDD!!! OH NOOOOOO!!!! STOPPPPPP! EEEEEEK!!!! OH NO NOT THERE!!!! STOP I CAN'T SEE!!!!! NO NOT THERE AGAIN ,NOOOOOOOO!!!!!" to no avail.

Jose and Kevin then doubly concentrated on Greg's gargantuan, swollen, pulsating cockhead and hairy balls, tickling down the space behind his balls to his asshole as well, until Greg was drooling from the mouth and the cock, and babbling and shrieking incoherently. Greg got even worse when Jose began to tickle his bare, executive feet while Kevin assaulted the patrician dude's arrogant cock, balls and asshole, Jose hitting the dude's pink soles, toes and instep and heels, running his fingers over these areas as well, tickling the shit out of the deserving prejudiced dude till he was literally going out of his mind.

Kevin tweaked the dude's tits and tickled his pits, ribs, and sides while simultaneously tickling and teasing and mastering the dude's helpless pulsating pecker, as Greg shrieked, squirmed, pleaded, cursed the "faggots", pulled wildly at his bonds, and sweated like the fuckin' pig he was, to Jose's and Kevin's amusement and humiliating guffaws.

Kevin tickled the arrogant dude's handsome face, causing him to flinch and curse as his sensuous lips were teased and tickled, Kevin teasing the sensitive flesh and making the dude's lips tingle and itch maddeningly. Kevin tickled his arrogant nose and made him sneeze, teased into his ears, blew his hot breath into them, teased his cute chin and Adam's apple with the feather, over his collarbone, and onto his pointed, ultrasensitive hair-haloed man-tits. Jose simultaneously teased the dude's feet and teased and tickled the glans and cockhead of the bully-boy's aching prick, his cum-churning bull-balls, and down to his asshole, until Greg was approaching the ultimate orgasm of his life, again and again bringing the arrogant asshole to the very brink of orgasm, only for them to back off and laugh uproariously as he begged them futilely to let him cum.

After several more minutes of intense tickle torture, Kevin and Jose pulled out the stops and wildly, relentlessly tickled the bound, blindfolded Greg Alexander III until with a screech and a wild wail, Greg screamed bloody murder as his huge prick exploded like the Fourth of July, huge volcanic volleys of white-hot jizz blasting out of his spasming prick, huge globs separating into splattering, pressurized bombs, arcing high towards the basement ceiling, splattering Greg's hairy chest, pits and face and cascading over Jose who vainly tried to avoid the drenching cum-bath, Greg screaming as volley after volley of pent-up patrician cum splattered all over the basement.

Kevin and Jose then re-initiated the tickle torture for several more hours before re-chloroforming him and depositing him naked on the front lawn of his own home in the middle of the night.

His nosy next-door neighbor, a Gladys Kravitz-type, complete with hair curlers, discovered him when she went to retrieve her morning paper, loudly shouting to her husband, "Ab-ner, Ab-ner, I told you our neighbor was a wack-o! Look he's on his lawn passed out drunk, stark nekkid!!!, awakening the entire neighborhood who assembled on their lawns to survey the scene, to Greg's abject humiliation.

Kevin got Jose to arrange to have some of Jose's "homeboy" friends break into the apartment shared by the other firm members from the gym, Kurt Thurston and Brad Huntington, tie them to chairs, rip-strip them, and then tickle torture them on video till each shot huge loads, then made each eat the other's cum, all on video.

So many more men, so little time! thought Kevin.