Roiding Out pt. 1

When out and proud bodybuilder George “invades” Pete’s happy place at the gym, he lashes out rather unkindly. Fortunately, George has the means to give him a much-needed attitude adjustment.

IMPORTANT NOTE: This story was written as a paid commission. If you are interested in commissioning your own story from me, please see the [Commissions] page for more information!

Few things gave Pete the sense of serenity and satisfaction a good workout did. A lot of people would probably balk at the prospect of working out at the end of a long day at work but honestly, he thought those people were pussies.

It was a great way to cap off a long day. There was nothing quite like taking frustrations out on the weights.

And while he wasn’t a violent person—or at least liked to think he wasn’t—there was a unique sort of enjoyment in beating the ever-living shit out of the gym’s punching bags. Sometimes he even liked to fantasize he was taking on some of the more intensely irksome people in his life.

Even past the catharsis, though, he just thought working out was pretty Zen. It probably didn’t look that way from the outside looking in but it really was.

He appreciated having an hour or so at the end of every day to just shut his brain off and mindlessly go through the motions. Repetition after repetition, going with the flow of his body, savoring the sensation of his muscles burning at the exertion.

All in all, Pete thought the gym was a pretty great place.

Or it had been, at least. Everything changed about half a year ago when someone new started coming to his local branch.

It wasn’t anything new. People came and went. They moved into the neighborhood. They moved out. They got it into their heads they were going to make a positive change in their lives—not that too many of those people ended up sticking around. This particular newcomer got on his nerves, though.

George was difficult to miss. He was a big guy—the kind that almost looked like his muscles had muscles. His biceps were so big they were easily the size of the receptionist’s head and his thighs looked like they could bend a plate weight between them.

If those were the only notable things about George, Pete would not have had so many issues with him. Hell, Pete might have looked up to him.

George had the kind of body any guy looking to get bigger would kill to have. His calves were rock-hard. His neck was thick. His pecs were so big his shirts stretched taut across his chest and his abs were so cut it looked like he could grind a rock to dust against them.

The only negative, as far as George’s physique went, was his body hair. Pete had always found body hair rather distasteful and George had it in spades.

Besides the hair, the main problem Pete had with George was that the guy was unapologetically gay. He’d come with a rainbow tank top his first day at the gym and a hot pink one the next day.

For the record, Pete didn’t mind gays. He didn’t hate them or want them put in jail. He just would have preferred if they kept their distance and stayed away from places only real men were supposed to be.

Things had changed ever since George started coming to Pete’s gym. People were more mindful of what they said. Everything was PC.

Pete didn’t even want to joke around because he just knew that if he said something that went against the narrative, he’d get canceled. And frankly, he was sick of it.

It might have looked like the regulars were all buddy-buddy with the roid queen but Pete was sure some people felt like he did. It was just irritating seeing what the place had become.

The equipment hadn’t changed but the atmosphere certainly had. It was like free speech died the moment George started coming to the gym.

Pete didn’t even know why George kept insisting on coming. There was a perfectly good fag-friendly gym fifteen minutes away. Hell, everyone knew that was where a guy could go to get his dick sucked if his girl didn’t put out.

He set his weights down with an irritated grunt. George was with one of the other regulars. They were talking about their respective relationships and Pete couldn’t help but scowl.

He wasn’t in the mood to listen to George crow about the latest guy to fuck him up the ass. Because there was no way an obvious steroid abuser like George didn’t have a shrunken little nubbin between his legs.

It honestly turned his stomach a bit. He didn’t understand how a guy could willingly take a fat hog up the ass.

Pete shook his head. "Fuck it," he muttered under his breath. If no one was going to speak up about the effect George was having on the atmosphere of the gym, he’d be the first one.

Some people were just chicken shit. All they needed was a little push. Pete was willing to be that. He was sure they’d start speaking up once they realized it was okay to voice their opinions—that it was a free country.

"Fuck’s sake, George," said Pete as he got up from the bench. "I honestly don’t know why you come here, but the rest of us just want to work out in peace. Not everyone wants to hear about your latest hookup."

"You’re welcome to work out in peace. No one’s bothering you," said George. "And for your information, I was talking about my fiancé."

Pete scoffed. "Yeah, right," he said. He didn’t believe it. If there was one thing he knew about the gays, it was that they fucked around. No way George had a fiancé. And if he did, there was no way it was going to last.

"Hey! What the fuck, dude? What’s that supposed to mean?" said the guy George had been talking to.

Pete shook his head and rolled his eyes. He snatched his gym bag off the floor and stalked off toward the locker room.

Ugh. He thought he’d get more support from the other regulars but all they’d done was stare.

They probably just needed some time. He refused to believe the other men in the gym didn’t see things his way.

No.

Pete was sure of it. They just needed an example—someone who would stand up for their right to a peaceful workout space.


Cowards. Pete was going to the gym with a bunch of cowards.

He didn’t for one second believe the guys were okay with George flaunting his faggotry around the place but they were all chicken shit for ganging up on him instead of trying to push out the one guy that clearly didn’t belong.

And what was with all this "you can’t say that, man!" bullshit? Where Pete was from, no one got their panties in a twist when he said something was gay.

He clutched the towel around his waist and silently fumed as he made his way back to the lockers. He was so absorbed in his thoughts he barely even noticed the biggest guy in the gym coming down the narrow space toward him.

Pete bumped into George and nearly lost grip on his shampoo and soap. "Fuck, man. Why don’t you watch where you’re going?" he said with a scowl.

"Sorry, man," said George. "Didn’t mean to."

Bumping into another guy on the way back from the showers wasn’t even all that uncommon an experience for a lot of the guys at the gym. The corridor was just too narrow. It was one of the few things Pete didn’t like about the place.

Any moderately built guy would have trouble squeezing past another guy coming down the opposite way. Bumps were fairly common and people usually just went about their business afterwards.

"Didn’t mean to?" said Pete. "I could have dropped my stuff, man!"

"Dude. It was just a little bump. It won’t happen again. It’s not a big deal," said George.

"Not a big deal?" Pete scoffed. "Fuck off! I bet you did it on purpose. Wanted me to drop my towel so you could sneak a look at a real man’s junk, didn’t you? Fucking fag."

"Bro. It was an accident," said George. "I’m gonna assume that you’ve just had a bad day, and I’ll overlook what you called me. But let me be clear on one thing, honey. I’m not even the slightest bit interested in what you’ve got packing under that towel."

"Yeah, right," Pete laughed. He made no attempt to hide the scorn in his voice. "How long you been juicing up, huh?"

He glanced at the space between George’s legs. "Roid queen like you probably has a little worm and a pair of raisins down there. Bet you just wanna see a healthy pair of cock and balls on a normal guy."

George’s nostrils flared. He stood up straight, stomach in, chest out. It would have been intimidating but Pete saw it for what it was—a bluff. A threat display. Nothing more.

"You gonna hit me, huh?" Pete taunted. "I wanna see you try. I bet you hit like a fucking girl. Wouldn’t be fucking surprised if all those muscles are just for show."

A vein popped on George’s temple. "What is your problem, man?" he said. "I get it. You don’t like me. I’ve been fucking trying to stay out of your way so why do you keep looking for trouble?"

Pete scoffed. "Didn’t realize you were stupid, too," he said. "Juice rot your brains, huh, fag? I think it’s pretty obvious to anyone who’s even half paying attention. The problem in this gym is you."

"Excuse me?" said George. "The only one making trouble is you, bro."

A couple of guys had stopped to watch on either end of the corridor. Pete poked a finger at George’s chest. "Ever since you started coming here, everyone’s been walking on eggshells. Can’t even fucking say ‘gay’ anymore without someone else jumping down your throat for it."

"So that’s what this is about," said George, rolling his eyes as he relaxed his stance. "Look, I’m sorry you’re so fucking insecure you can’t handle going to the same gym as a gay guy, bro, but that’s not my problem."

Pete fumed. "I’m not insecure!" he said. He was comfortable in his own skin. He was proud to be who he was—a normal real-blooded man. "It’s just a fucking fact. You don’t belong here. Everyone knows that."

George crossed his arms over his chest. "I can go to the gym wherever the damn hell I please, squirt," he said. "And if people had a problem with me, they would have spoken up by now. Don’t try and put words in other people’s mouths."

The white towel wrapped around George’s waist got loose and dropped to the ground. Pete couldn’t help but look down in shock, eyes widening when he saw just what the big guy was packing.

Between two rock-hard thighs nearly the size of tree trunks dangled a long, fat hog that despite being entirely soft was already substantially larger than his own. The pair of nuts that dangled underneath were proportionally hefty—Pete might even have struggled to make them fit in the palm of one hand.

Pete shook his head and looked up at George. God. He was going to be sick. He wished he hadn’t looked down.

"Because you and your little libtard friends are gonna fucking cancel them as soon as they open their mouths!" he said, forcibly putting aside the fact George had a monstrous cock between his legs. "But you know what, I’m not fucking afraid."

Pete jabbed his finger at George’s chest. "So I’m gonna speak for everyone here. Because I know they’re all thinking the same thing. Fuck off! We don’t want you here."

He pointed down the corridor, back the way George had come. "There’s a fag-friendly gym fifteen minutes away. Go there! Leave this place to the real men!"

George shook his head and laughed. "The little straight man’s having a temper tantrum because his fragile little ego can’t handle a fag bigger than him," he said, shaking his head.

Pete bristled and opened his mouth but George just bulldozed right over him with that low, rumbling voice of his.

"Man. It’s kinda sad. You really believe the guys here all agree with you," said George. "Why don’t you take a closer look. See if anyone’s taking your side."

Pete looked down the hall both ways. The guys were glaring at him. "Oh fuck all of you! Fine. You want the faggot to stay, I’m gonna fucking go. It’s pussies like you worthless piles of shit that are the reason this country’s going down the drain."

He tried to shove past George to leave but the big guy didn’t even budge an inch. Instead, his upper arm was caught in the vice-like grip of a meaty hand. "Don’t fucking touch me, faggot," he hissed.

"You’re coming with me," said George. His voice was low and menacing. Combined with his size, it was intimidating enough Pete couldn’t help but freeze.

It took Pete a moment to register what George had said. When he did, he tried to shake off the big guy’s grip. "Like hell, I’m gonna go anywhere with you!" he said.

All his strength availed him very little. However hard he tried to pull away, George refused to budge.

"Yes, you are," said George. "Because you’ve got issues, kid."

Pete scoffed. "I’ve got issues? Bro. I’m not the guy that wants dicks stuffed up his ass," he said in a vain display of bravado.

George laughed. "If men weren’t supposed to bottom, it wouldn’t feel so good," he said with a smirk.

Pete saw George’s prodigious cock twitch out of the corner of his eye and shuddered. He pointedly looked away and said, "It’s unnatural."

George shook his head. "Look, man. I get it. You’re frustrated with your gains. You’re not making as much progress as you want—"

Pete bristled. "I’m perfectly happy with my progress, bro. Stop fucking psycho-analyzing me, okay? I’m not fucking insecure. I’m not jealous you’re bigger than me. I’m just having the same fucking reaction any real man would have to being forced into the same space as a fucking faggot!"

"Sure, honey. Say whatever your pretty little head needs to keep your macho ‘real man’ image intact." said George. He pulled Pete along as he made his way to the showers, not even bothering to pick up his towel.

Pete tried digging his heels in to stop George but he realized those muscles weren’t just for show as he’d assumed. George was strong. Terrifyingly so.

Even when he leaned back and used his other hand to try and grab on to the wall, George didn’t slow down. "Fuck, man! Let me go!" he said, letting go of the wall to bang his hand on George’s wrist.

"You know, I’m usually a pretty good judge of people," said George. He looked over his shoulder and smirked. "And you can say anything you want but I can tell. Deep down what you really want is to be like me."

Pete didn’t know why but those words tied his stomach up in knots. George was smiling warmly at him but he was terrified. A cold sweat trickled down the side of his face. "N-no fucking way, man," he said. "I-I don’t want to look like a fucking freak."

"Jealousy isn’t really a good reason to take things out on someone who’s just minding his own business. It’s not particularly healthy, either. But don’t you worry about that, bro. I’m gonna help you fix that attitude problem," said George.

The guys that had gathered at the end of the corridor to watch the altercation stepped aside to give Pete and George some space. Not a one stepped in to help.

Once they were at the showers, George’s smile turned into a devilish little smirk. "I don’t do this for everyone, but you’re a pretty special case," he said. "Don’t worry. I’m feeling generous tonight. It won’t cost you a penny."

Pete looked around. There wasn’t anyone left in the showers besides him and George. One more time, he tried to free himself from George’s grip and growled, "I’m not interested in whatever quack shit you’re trying to peddle, bro," he said.

George rolled his eyes and laughed. "Cute. You still think you get a say." He shook his head and shoved, making Pete stumble backward until his back hit the wall of the shower in between two showerheads.

Pete braced against the wall to try and leave but George loomed over him. "Try it," he said. "If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put."

The threatening tone of George’s voice was enough to give Pete pause. All his bluster and bravado evaporated as he realized George was truly angry. No. More than that. George was furious.

"I-I dare you to hit me. I’ll call the fucking cops!" said Pete, clutching the rolled-up part of the towel wrapped around his waist.

George laughed. "Come on, kid. Is that the best you’ve got? Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?" He shook his head. "And with what, huh? You got your phone somewhere on you?"

Pete flushed. He could feel his cheeks heating up and the tips of his ears felt like they were about to burst into flame. "I-I’ll shout!" he said.

George chuckled. "Don’t worry," he said. "This won’t hurt. Much."

"Wait, what are you—!"

Pete’s words were cut short when George grabbed both of his nipples and twisted them. The pain was intense—so much for not hurting much.

It wasn’t like Pete had never been on the receiving end of a titty twister but this was on another level. There wasn’t just pain. There was heat, too.

And as if things weren’t bad enough, George tugged hard. A low groan escaped Pete, his back arching as George tortured his nipples.

But something was weird. Something was wrong. He felt as if his nipples were stretching, somehow—that George was pulling them away from his body further than he should have been able to.

Looking down, Pete’s eyes widened. All the color left his face. "W-what the fuck?!" he shouted in alarm.

Pete’s nipples looked grotesque. They’d gotten bigger—as if George had pulled them out of his body somehow.

Both nipples looked less like the small pink nubs they used to be and more like darker swollen clits hanging off his chest. Each nipple was about the size of a dime and an inch long. His areolas had changed too, increasing in size and getting darker to boot.

"What did you do?!" Pete screeched. He grabbed George’s wrists in an attempt to wrest them away from his chest but to no avail.

All Pete managed to earn himself was more hurt as George pinched and twisted his nipples even harder. He couldn’t help but let go. It hurt too much.

And as if to add insult to injury, a sharp, incredibly intense pain shot through both of Pete’s nipples. The noise it extracted from him was embarrassingly high-pitched and made him grateful no one else seemed to be around to hear.

"Fuck…" he breathed as his eyes watered.

"There you go. Much better," said George.

Pete hissed as George released his nipples. He thought the pain would go away as soon as George let go but that wasn’t the case at all.

His back arched as sensation returned to his nipples. There was a sharp flare of pain followed by an intense tingling numbness and an acute awareness of just how cold the air was in the shower room.

When the sensation subsided to a dull ache in his chest, Pete realized his nipples felt… heavy. Heavier than they’d ever been and certainly heavier than was natural—even considering what George had done to him.

He almost didn’t want to look but he felt compelled. He took a breath to steel his nerves but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

He had piercings. He didn’t know where they’d come from or how George had put them on him but he had piercings.

Two rings so heavy-gauge his nipples had to stretch around their girth dangled from his chest. An ex of his was a goth girl with pierced nipples so he recognized what the nipple rings were—typical bead-capture piercings—but they were much, much heavier and thicker than anything his ex had shown him. The "bead" alone was about half an inch in diameter.

Pete could only think of taking the piercings off but he realized one important difference between a normal bead capture nipple ring and the ones he had: his were fused. The ball didn’t serve as a clasp—it was part of the ring. The piercings were one solid piece of metal.

There was no way to take the piercings off.

Pete’s nostrils flared. He was trying his best not to panic or freak out but it was difficult. He couldn’t explain what had just happened—couldn’t even begin to understand what George had done.

"W-what did you do to me?!" he demanded. He was beginning to hyperventilate. No matter how hard he tried to calm himself down, it wasn’t working.

To make matters worse, the rapid, shallow breaths made his chest heave. The piercings, heavy as they were, bounced in turn. All the motion sent shocks of electric sensation through his tender nipples, making it even more difficult not to freak out.

"Nothing to get so freaked out over," said George with a grin. "I’m just doing this to help you out. Fix that unhealthy attitude, you know?"

"S-stop!" said Pete. He flinched when George took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Don’t come any closer!"

Not that George could come much closer to him. Barely an inch separated their bodies. He could almost feel the heat of George’s body on his skin.

George chuckled. He leaned back and looked Pete up and down. "Hmm… This is a good starting point. But I think we can do better."

"S-stop!" said Pete, sucking in a breath through his teeth as George cupped his package through the towel wrapped around his waist.

He could have thrown a punch. He could have slapped George’s hand away. There were a hundred ways he could have bodily stopped the big guy from groping him but for some reason, he couldn’t will himself to move.

"Yeah," said George, the corner of his mouth curling in a little smirk. "I think that’s definitely a bit of a problem," he added as he gave Pete’s package a little squeeze.

"Let’s get rid of this," said George. He grabbed the towel with his free hand and ripped it off Pete’s body with relative ease.

"H-hey! F-fuck!" Pete stammered. He watched the towel fall on the wet tiles behind George, sopping up the water. He tried to cover up but a single glance from George stopped him.

George chuckled. "Much better. You should be more like this, man. You don’t need to be so fucking prickly all the time."

Pete shivered as he felt George’s thick fingers cradling his sack. They were hot on the sensitive skin of his balls. Despite himself, his cock couldn’t help but twitch at the touch.

George whistled. "Figured you’d be pretty hung, bro. Wow. That is a pretty piece of meat," he said, gently lifting Pete’s soft shaft with the tips of his fingers.

"Bet you thought this made you feel like such a big man," said George as he peeled back Pete’s foreskin and rubbed his thumb over the frenulum.

Pete chewed on his lower lip and shook his head. He didn’t know why his cock was suddenly so sensitive or why George’s hand felt so good on him, but he wasn’t going to give the big guy the satisfaction of hearing him moan.

Even so—and despite all his willpower—his body betrayed him. His cock jumped in George’s grip, plumping up against his will.

George laughed. "Yeah. I thought so. You straight guys are all the same, man. You all think a big dick makes you so much better than other guys."

He placed his hands on his hips and thrust them forward. His half-hard cock swung forward and so did his pendulous balls.

Pete couldn’t help but look.

The quick glance didn’t escape George’s notice. "What do you think, bro?" he said with a grin. "Still think you’re a big macho man?"

Pete opened his mouth to say something. He wanted to protest. He wanted to defend himself somehow. And yet, nothing came out.

George shook his head. "Cat got your tongue, bro?" he said with a laugh. "Whatever. I know the truth anyway. I bet you’d stop being such a dick if, well, you didn’t have much of one left."

Pete’s face paled. "W-wait just a second!" he said. His mind was still reeling. Part of him wanted to deny that any of this was actually happening. But every time he looked down at his chest and saw the heavy piercings and massive nipples, it was a reminder that he didn’t even have control over his own body anymore.

So much of his pride as a man was bound up in how well-endowed he was, the thought of losing it all imparted such a terrible sense of dread he could feel his chest getting tight. He didn’t want that. Anything but that. And the sensation of the piercings bouncing with every breath left little doubt George could do it.

"Look, man… I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again. I swear!" he said, loath though he was to speak the words. He just wanted it to stop. "Y-you’ve made your point. Just… Change me back. I’m sorry."

George smiled. "Okay," he said. "I forgive you. We’re gonna be friends now, yeah?"

There was such a genuine warmth in George’s expression Pete couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief thinking it was over. He nodded. "Of course, man."

He didn’t actually think he had anything to apologize for. It was only natural for a real man to be disgusted with having fags around.

His priority was to get his old body back and get away from George. If it meant having to apologize to a fag for the crime of being a normal, non-pussified American male, he guessed his pride could survive the hit. He was sure there would be time enough for payback later.

The moment Pete tried to walk away, though, George placed a meaty hand on his chest and pushed him back against the wall. "W-what the hell, man?" he said. "I thought we were good? Friends, right?"

"Of course," said George sweetly.

It was only then Pete realized the warmth of George’s smile never actually reached his eyes. Their steel grey was cold and angry.

"L-look, man. I already apologized. I-I don’t know what more you want from me," said Pete.

"I know," said George. "And I forgave you. But friends help each other out, right? And you’ve got a huge attitude problem I’m gonna help you out with."

Pete’s eyes widened. "W-wait!" he said, grunting with pain as George’s hand closed around his cock and balls and squeezed.

George didn’t squeeze for much longer than a few seconds but it felt like an eternity to Pete. Worse still, he could feel his junk shrinking, his cock and balls shriveling up and retreating into his body as George pressed them against his crotch.

"There we go," said George with a smirk.

Pete almost didn’t want to look down. He could feel the loss of the heft between his legs. The worst part was that he was hard and that despite that, it barely felt like there was anything there.

He couldn’t bear to see what George had done to him but he looked down anyway. What he had left was barely large enough to be considered a nub and his balls were small, high, and tight against his body.

"Maybe having less of a cock will help that cockiness of yours, friend," said George sardonically. "Oh. But I’m not a monster. There’s a way you can earn your size back."

Pete’s head shot up. "H-how?!" he said, half-demanding, half-pleading. He didn’t know how he could live with himself, looking like a boy whose balls hadn’t even dropped.

George grinned. He tapped the underside of Pete’s new nipple rings with the knuckles of his index fingers.

The heavy piercings swung. It was so unexpected that Pete was caught unprepared for the sensation. He bit back a moan as tingling pleasure spread throughout his chest, making the muscle spasm and the piercings shake even more.

"All you gotta do is play with these bad boys a bit, bro," said George.

Pete’s cock twitched as he took a deep breath to regain his composure. There was something undeniably faggy about playing with his nipples but it hadn’t really felt that bad.

If that was all he had to do to get his cock back, he could bear it. But somehow he didn’t think it would be that easy. "W-what’s the catch?" he said.

George grinned. "Clever boy," he said with a devilish glint in his eye. "Actually, any time you play with your nipples, or any time anything touches them—even accidentally—there’s a chance you’ll get your cock back."

Pete held his tongue. It wasn’t just going to be a simple game of chance. He could tell that much. He was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

George smirked. "Here’s the catch: every time you touch or play with your nipples, every time something grazes them—even accidentally—there’s a chance something else about you changes. Something else that will make you start looking like me."

There it was.

Pete felt a cold knot of dread drop into the pit of his stomach. He’d crossed someone he shouldn’t have but it was too late to take back the things he’d done—the things he’d said.

"So it’s up to you, bro," said George. "Get your cock back but end up looking like me or stay the way you are now and live the rest of your life with an itty-bitty thing between your legs. The choice is yours."

IMPORTANT NOTE: This story was written as a paid commission. If you are interested in commissioning your own story from me, please see the [Commissions] page for more information!

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