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Episode 7

Clay was the quintessential gym rat, and he was proud of it. All he talked about was his new diet or his latest exercise routine, if you could manage to get him past his constant bragging about how much he could bench press and bicep curl. Of course, the muscle served him well in the wrestling ring, where he had quickly risen to varsity level and was one of the top competitors in the state. That didn't mean that he was very popular on campus, not that he really cared. All that really concerned him was his own image, and he refused to work out anywhere other than in front of a mirror based on nothing more than vanity. He had just finished his classes for the day, and it was time for his evening workout. One of his workout buddies had told him earlier that day that some new gym equipment had arrived, which had been ordered by Coach Red, and Clay was excited to give it a shot.

He got into the locker room and changed into his workout clothes, which consisted in a pair of shorts which were stretched tight over his bulging quads (and substantial package, of course), and a sleeveless shirt one or two sizes too small for him, which emphasized his massive arms and shoulders. No one was in there, so he was at liberty to take a minute or five and throw some poses in the mirror, while he admired his overall image. He had gotten his hair cut a few days ago, and he liked how his wavy hair framed his strong chin and jaw. He had also been working on growing a chin strap beard, which he had finally managed to get trimmed to where he wanted it. He was a hairy guy below the neck too, with a substantial treasure trail and a decent coat of hair on all of his limbs. He liked the masculine look, and overall he was satisfied, but there were still some bits of fat which refused to surrender no matter how hard he worked. If this gym equipment was as good as his friend had told him it was, then maybe he could finally trim up those last few problem areas once and for all.

When he walked into the fitness center, he was surprised to find that it wasn't just a few machines which had been added during the day, but that a whole new wing had been added, all stocked with various equipment manufactured by a company he had never heard of, called TrueImage. However, the designs were all ergonomic, and looked like they emphasized range of motion, so he figured he might as well give them a try. If he didn't like them, there were always the old machines in the main room to use.

He walked in and found the room empty of people, which was a bit strange. Granted, he always tried to come during off peak hours, but usually there was at least one of his fellow workout freaks who would be willing to help spot him. That meant that he was going to have to settle for a slightly less strenuous workout, but that was probably good, since he was working on some unfamiliar equipment. Even more disappointing was the fact that there were no mirrors anywhere in the room, and all of the machines were positioned such that they faced into the room, rather than out of it. There weren't even any windows, so the whole room felt a bit dark and dreary, despite the fact that the fluorescent lighting left nothing unlit. Still, he could manage one workout without eyeing himself he thought, as long as the machines were as good as they were rumored.

Clay decided to start off with a pretty standard warm up on the treadmill, so that he could get his heart rate going and his muscles limber. He climbed on, and started playing with the computer, but as soon as he hit the start button, a red light clicked on, and a series of lasers began scanning his body, from his head to his toes, while the screen flashed, "Calculating ideal TrueImage setting. Please remain still." This continued for about a minute, until the light flicked off, and the tread started moving, catching Clay off guard for a moment, until he could get the stride right. It settled at a light jog, and Clay immediately noticed that it seemed to be paced at the ideal warm up speed--not too fast, and not too slow.

He was impressed that the machine could have calibrated all of that off of a laser scan. In fact, he hadn't imagined that was even possible in the first place, but apparently it worked. However, the computer wasn't telling him much about the routine it had planned for him--it didn't even have a timer counting down to the end of his work out. All it said was "TrueImage workout in progress," over and over again. As he was running, Clay tried hitting a few of the buttons, but nothing happened at all to the speed, incline, or anything. Out of curiosity, Clay tried to get off, but there were rails on both sides, so he couldn't just step off, and when he stopped running, planning on just falling off the back, the tread stopped moving too, and when he tried to walk backwards, the tread moved under him, keeping him in one spot. He was a little freaked out, finding out that he was trapped on the machine, but he figured that he might as well run, and wait for the program to cycle out by itself.

The workout program stayed easy for a little while, but then Clay began to notice that he was huffing and puffing a bit more than usual, and certainly far more than he had ever before when he was running. He assumed that the machine much have changed something--increased the speed or raised the incline--but everywhere he looked he couldn't detect any difference at all. If anything, it seemed like the treadmill was going slower than it had when he had begun. He also wasn't entirely sure how long he had been running either. The machine was facing a wall, and there wasn't a clock anywhere in the room. No one had come in while he had been working out, so it couldn't have been that late, but it was disconcerting to say the least.

Eventually he knew that the machine was slowing down, because what had been a jog a little while before had slowed to a fast walk, and then slowed even further, to what should have been a relaxing stroll, but Clay had never been as exhausted as he was then. He had come to the conclusion that the treadmill must have had some means of increasing the resistance of the tread itself--it was the only way this workout could have become so strenuous at such a slow speed. It was quite ingenious, actually, because that meant he could achieve a harder workout at much slower speeds while reducing the risk of injury, but he figured that it would take a few weeks before he was used to it.

Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to walk any further, the treadmill clicked off, and the screen flashed "Program complete." With legs like rubber, Clay stumbled away from the machine, and over to the drinking fountain in the main room. After a good, long drink, he checked the clock, and was surprised to find that he had only been running for ten minutes, even though it felt like he had been on the tread for at least an hour. He certainly needed a rest before he even attempted to lift some weights. While he focused on slowing his breathing, he wandered over to the mirror, so that he could have another look at himself, but as soon as he saw his reflection, he felt that something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

His gut was there, though it wasn't one of those saggy things those chubs at the school had. It was hard, with a solid mix of fat and muscle. In fact, that was how he would have described most of his body. Sure, he was stocky, but most of his muscles were covered by a healthy layer of fat. It certainly didn't give him much cardio strength, but he could bench press 250 pounds easy. He felt his tightly trimmed goatee and close cropped hair, but those felt both wrong and right as well. He felt like he should have been more muscular, but this was how he'd looked for years, so there was no reason he should feel like he was looking at a new person, but he did. He noticed that a bit of his gut was hanging out from under his shirt, with a light treasure trail, and he self-consciously pulled it down, and looked around to see if anyone had seen him, but everyone in the room seemed absorbed in their own workouts.

As he was looking around, he saw that a familiar face had wandered into the center while he was jogging, one of the members of the football team named Jason Yelman. Clay waved at Jason, and started over towards where he was sitting on a weight bench, doing some bicep curls. As he walked over, he felt the five inch cock in his pants begin to harden as he stared at Jason's crotch, and imagined himself down on his knees in front of him, sucking his cock while he rubbed his own through his pants. The image was so powerful that Clay felt his lips grow dry, and he licked them anxiously as he approached. Jason finished his reps on the machine where he was, and wiped his face off with a towel. "Hey Clay, what's up?" he said.

"Oh, you know. The usual. You try the new machines yet?" Clay said, trying to sound casual, but is just coming off sounding nervous. What was wrong with him all of the sudden? He wasn't gay, was he? Granted, he'd never been very interested in women before either, but why did his gaze keep drifting back to Jason's crotch?

Jason shook his head, "Nah, coach said we aren't allowed to use them. He wants us to build our bulk the old fashioned way. You try them?"

"Yeah. Not sure if I like them yet or not..." Clay said, and then they both lapsed into silence.

Jason looked where Clay was looking and smirked, "Come on man, enough with the small talk. I know what you want, so suck it already."

Clay felt his face heat up, and he looked around nervously, "What, here? Out in the open?"

In response, Jason just pulled down his pants, revealing his rock hard nine inch cock, and that was all Clay needed to see. He got down on his knees, and started sucking, slowly at first, and then more vigorously. Jason just sat there with one guiding hand on the back of Clay's head, and enjoyed the ride. No one else in the room paid any attention to the at all, as though one jock giving another one head was completely normal. Clay meanwhile, couldn't resist reaching under his taut gut and fondling his own member which was leaking an amazing amount of precum into his shorts. Slowly he could feel his orgasm building, and with a massive surge, exploded a massive load in his shorts, saturating the front of them so much that his cum began leaking through and dripping onto the floor. Jason, however, was completely oblivious to Clay, as though he was just another machine in the room to be used. With no warning, he shot his load down Clay's throat, who swallowed all of it, and sat back, satisfied in ways he couldn't even fathom. Jason just pulled up his pants, stood up, and went back to his bicep curls as though nothing had happened, leaving Clay to lick his lips and savor the jock's cum on his tongue.

Clay knew that he should have felt humiliated, but instead he felt rejuvenated, and was ready for his weight program. With one last look in the mirror, and happy that his earlier doubts had seemingly evaporated, he walked back into the TrueImage room, and examined the weight machines more closely. When he had looked at them earlier, he had thought they were all different, but on closer inspection, they were actually all identical machines. Curious, Clay walked up to one and sat down in the seat there, and as soon as he did, another set of lasers sprang to life, and began scanning his body yet again. A screen lit up next to him, again saying "Calculating ideal TrueImage setting. Please remain still," but the lasers lasted much shorter this time, and the screen flashed, "Recognizing previous program...program loaded," and a few ankle and wrist bracelets were released from the machine. Clay assumed that he was supposed to put them on, and did so, figuring that, as soon as he did, he would be locked into the program like before. Indeed, as soon as the last clasp was locked in place, the cords attached to the machine pulled taut, and began maneuvering his limbs around to different positions, while the chair tilted with them. The whole effect was disorienting at first, but he adjusted to it quickly, and he liked how it saved him the effort of moving from machine to machine in the old room.

Unlike on the treadmill, the screen on the weight machine gave him a bit more direction, usually telling him the general motion he was supposed to make with his limbs. Also similar to the treadmill, the weights were very light, but he did not have the stamina it seemed like he usually did. Again, he figured that there must be some device which was adjusting the resistance, but he never witnessed it operating. The machine was very thorough, and worked him through every muscle group on his body. As soon as one group was exhausted, the cords and chair positioned him anew, and another exercise was begun. By the end, every muscle in Clay's body was on fire, and he was so relieved when the straps released him, that he pledged he would never go near one of these machines ever again. They were simply too exhausting.

He waddled back to the main room, absolutely drenched with sweat, and caught another look at himself in the mirror, all of him, and his jaw dropped in horror. He was fat, but not just fat, he was disgustingly obese. I mean, sure, he had never been skinny, but he now had a soft apron which completely obscured his crotch, and fell at least five or six inches further than that, so that his huge thighs bumped into it when he walked. His way too small shirt didn't even begin to cover it, and just made him look even chubbier. His face was almost perfectly round, with puffy cheeks and a second chin which hung down over his neck. All of the hair on his head was simply gone, which only emphasized how round he was. He didn't even have any facial hair--everything, even his body, was baby smooth. He reached up and felt his face and neck, and was surprised with how soft and pliable the fat was. In fact, all of his body was like that. He gave his belly a tentative shake and watched the fat ripple all around him, and the sensation was surprisingly pleasing, and even erotic. As he stood there, he could feel his massive thighs rubbing against one another, feel the flab hanging off of his arms where he was certain there had been bulging biceps not minutes ago. It was wrong, all of it, and he had no idea how it had happened, and the scary part was that some part of his mind was trying to tell him that this was how he was supposed to look, and that he liked looking like this.

He turned away, certain that it had to be some illusion or something caused by the exhausting workout he had just gone through. What he needed was some water. He walked over to the fountain again, panting and stumbling the whole way, and drank as much water as he could. When he was finished, all he wanted to do was sit somewhere and rest, so he plopped his fat ass down next to the water fountain. When he sat, it was even more obvious how he had changed, but the more he thought about it, the less shocking it became, and though he tried to remember how he had looked earlier that day, he found that all of his memories--every single one--was of him obese, even all the way back into childhood. And he liked it. He wanted to be fat. It made him happy, as disgusting as that should have been. As he sat there, he had unconsciously begun massaging his belly, and he could feel his short, stubby cock growing underneath his apron. However, he knew better than to try and find it--he couldn't reach it. Of course, that didn't stop his massive balls from producing a massive amount of cum whenever he was aroused, which was pretty much all the time.

Clay looked up, and saw that Jason was taking a drink at the water fountain, and he began expecting that something was going to happen, something he really wanted, and without missing a beat, Jason pulled down his shorts and shoved his cock into Clay's mouth. This is what he had been needing. He hadn't sucked a cock in a good fifteen minutes, and he needed a massive dose of cum, and he knew exactly how to get it. He sucked as hard as he could, and in less than a minute, Jason couldn't hold back any longer, and shot his second load of the day down Clay's throat, and then walked away without even acknowledging him, not that Clay cared. He just lay back against the wall, and felt the happy gush of cum soak his groin. "Hey Gus," Clay called, "Are you going to hook me up or not?"

From around the corner, a stocky bear came running over, grinning. "Back for more, Clay? Man, you already were here for hours this morning," he laughed, but was just as familiar with Clay's routine as Clay was. He pulled a pump out from the side of the water fountain next to Clay, and after a bit of fiddling, managed to get the vacuum pump fastened over Clay's tiny dick. He then flipped the switch, and Clay felt the pump start sucking at his cock, and he moaned, pinching his fat nipples through his shirt. "Yeah, you fuckin' pig. Man, I heard the whole football team is going to be working out together tonight, so you had better be ready for some good facefucks," Gus said, as he massaged the cock in his own shorts. However, it was so long that the entire head pocked out the bottom when it was entirely hard. Unable to hold back any longer, Gus pulled down his pants and shoved his cock into Clay's mouth, who started sucking away at as much of it as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the clear tank next to the fountain began to fill with his precum that the pump was sucking up. Immediately, some jocks lined up and began taking good long drinks from the fountain, now spouting Clay's precum, which they all drank it down like gluttons. Afterwards, they were happy to make their own donations to Clay's gullet, and he soon lost track of how many cocks he had sucked. Occasionally, guys would get down around him and play with his fat, which only made Clay hornier, occasionally leading him to a massive orgasm which filled the tank to the top every time.

Clay was in heaven, and nearly all of the jocks came back for second and thirds. For the next two hours, until the center closed, Clay was never without a cock in his mouth. When the last jock had left, Gus came back to help him stand up, then turned him around and pushed him against the wall. With the push of another switch, Clay began pumping his cum into the reserve tanks, while Gus reamed his ass with his massive cock for a good hour. Turning on the pump to its maximum setting, so that by the time Gus was halfway through, Clay had already had five screaming orgasms, and was weak in the knees. They had been lovers since their first meeting during orientation a few years ago, and it had been Gus's idea to install the pump in the fountain. In fact, the additional protein had helped all of the athletes at the school pack on pound after pound of muscle. When Gus finally reached his climax and shot his own massive load up Clay's ass, they cleaned him up, put the pump away, and headed back to the locker room.

Clay stripped out of his "workout" clothes, and sucked some of the excess cum from his shorts before throwing them into his locker with the shirt. Gus was taking a long piss in the bathroom, so Clay took a few minutes to admire himself in the mirror. He really was the hottest cum dump in the school, and every man on campus knew it. Wherever he was, guys would line up for a blow job from him, and most guys couldn't last for more than a minute when he was working his hardest. He played with one meaty nipple, and fantasized about all of the cocks he had seen that afternoon, and felt his dick start leaking again. The night was still young, and he figured Gus might be willing to hit one of the bars on campus before they headed home and went to bed. Gus came out of the bathroom and gave his love a big hug and kiss, which soon turned into another blowjob. As Gus blew another load all over Clay's baby smooth face, all he could think was that this was what he was meant to be--this was his true image.