Part 1

Álvaro’s phone buzzed just before the club was due to open. He looked down at it and frowned; it was Sheila from human resources. Mentally steeling himself, he ducked into his office because Sam, the club’s DJ, was already blasting music even though the place didn’t open for another hour.

“Hey, Shel,” he said, hoping he sounded more enthused than he felt. “What’s–”

The HR manager didn’t wait for him to finish and began talking over him in her customary rapid-fire, clipped tone. “Al, you got a shadow for the next week. His name is Justin Reardon, a new guy from corporate.”

“Another one?”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the bellyaching,” Sheila drawled, her eye roll evident even over the phone. “The big guy thinks this one’ll work out. Real promising. He’s on the fast track for a promotion. Could be running the show in a year!”

Álvaro sagged in his chair. He could already tell from the guy’s name–Justin Reardon? WTF? Could you get any more blueblood?–that he came from money. When would corporate find someone who reflected the diversity of their client base? Eloquence, Inc., the club’s parent company, owned a host of bars and restaurants in minority neighborhoods but none of the top managers reflected this fact; they were almost all white and mostly men. Ah, well, he thought, giving himself a little pep talk. Maybe I’m wrong about Reardon. Maybe he’ll be different.

Making himself sound cheery, Álvaro asked, “And when will Mr. Reardon be here?”

“Should already be there,” Sheila replied. “He’s carrying a briefcase so make sure the bouncers don’t subject him to a thorough body search.”

As if on cue, the light on his desk phone lit up; it was the bouncer’s extension. Álvaro sighed and said goodbye to Sheila, reaching down to press the button.

He could already tell it was going to be a real fun night.

***

Justin Reardon didn’t want anyone to mistake him for a member of the hoi polloi. The young man showed up wearing an impeccably tailored, three-piece gray suit with oxblood, patent leather shoes that matched his shiny briefcase. An expensive watch adorned his wrist. (A Rolex? Álvaro wondered as he rounded the corner and assessed the new manager.) Even his cufflinks sparkled with lapis lazuli gemstones. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Reardon was also quite handsome in a Teutonic sort of way. His short, blond hair was full of gel and stylishly combed in an elaborate sweep. His reddish beard was clipped tight to accentuate his strong jawline. His icy blue gaze flicked dismissively past Álvaro as he approached and he stared past him, looking intently at the elevator door.

“I don’t see what could be keeping him,” he was saying in an aggrieved tone to the bouncer, Isidro. “I had HR call ahead and let him know to expect me.”

The rich brat doesn’t realize that I’m the manager. Fucking typical, Álvaro thought, grimacing as he made eye contact with Isidro. The bouncer shrugged almost imperceptibly and rolled his eyes.

“It’s Ok, Izzy,” Álvaro said, holding up his hand. “I got this.” Reaching out, he greeted the startled young executive with a firm handshake, announcing, “I’m Álvaro Dias, Mr. Reardon. The club manager. It’s a pleasure to have you in El Agujero.” He paused before whispering conspiratorially to Reardon behind his hand, “It means ‘Hole’ in Spanish.”

The young guy’s cheeks colored and he nodded briskly, saying, “Yes, Mr. Dias, I am well aware of the meaning of the word, thank you very much.”

Well, that was no fun, Álvaro thought. I’ll have to try harder next time. He fucking loved getting under the skin of new managers, making it his personal mission to fluster them.

Keeping his expression neutral, he executed a low bow, saying, “Please, Mr. Reardon, call me Álvaro.”

At first, the young man smiled at his obsequious behavior but Izzy’s snicker clued him into Álvaro’s mockery. He flushed, straightening to his full height (which was still several inches shorter than either Isidro or Álvaro), and pronounced icily, “And you may call me ‘Mr. Reardon.’ Not Justin, not Jay, and certainly not JR.”

Álvaro smiled tightly in response, already hating the kid. “With pleasure, Mr. Reardon,” he said tonelessly and, motioning toward the entrance, asked, “Would you care for a tour of our humble establishment?”

***

Justin Reardon’s demeanor matched his buttoned-down appearance. The kid never cracked a smile, never made a joke, never even pretended to feign interest in the club. He did, however, manage to find a way to refer numerous times to his fiance, Aimee. After the third time he dropped her name into an otherwise business-oriented conversation, Álvaro had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. It’s Ok, kid, he thought. You’re straight. I got it. You don’t need to keep reminding me. 

It was clear that the guy was only at El Agujero to check the box on his training checklist. In some ways, Álvaro couldn’t blame him. The company had a quaint but somewhat dated policy of requiring new managers to spend several days at each of the company’s properties before settling into their cushy corner offices at corporate. Theoretically, they would familiarize themselves with the varied businesses that made up the company but, in practice, the haughty new managers spent most of the time turning up their noses at the lowly worker bees laboring to generate the revenue that paid their hefty salaries. Álvaro was therefore not surprised when the young man cut the tour short when they were only on the third floor. (El Agujero was a huge club with five dance floors and six levels.)

Holding up his hand, he interrupted Álvaro, asking, “Where is your office, Mr. Dias?”

“Um, upstairs. Why?”

Mr. Reardon narrowed his eyes. “I wish to occupy it while I am here. Can you find an alternative work space until Wednesday?”

Álvaro blinked, taken aback both by the young man’s attitude and contrived language. He was formulating his response when that evening’s performers, a horde of pumped-up muscle bulls, lurched out of the elevator in front of them. They were already half naked in advance of the evening’s festivities and the clothing they did have on did little to conceal their enormous physiques. Collectively, there were probably enough steroids coursing through their veins to supply the entire male population of the city with testosterone for over a year. 

The big galoots grunted their hellos at Álvaro as they waddled past, so big and bloated with muscle that they had trouble walking straight. Álvaro greeted them warmly, smacking a few of them on the ass and clapping others on the shoulders. He’d always had a soft spot (and a hard cock) for the muscle boys. Too bad he was a manager and therefore prevented from doing more than ogling them. Someday when he got a new job, though, he would finally bed one of the big beasts…

The sudden appearance of the huge men rattled Mr. Reardon’s calm and his mouth fell open before he regained his composure and clamped it shut again. He was turning to Álvaro, no doubt to repeat his demand to relinquish his office, when Papito Morales emerged belatedly from the elevator.

Mr. Reardon gaped anew, tugging nervously at his collar, as the elephantine brute heaved his ponderous bulk into the hallway. He was so wide that his roid-engorged deltoids almost brushed the walls on either side of him. Obviously fresh from a tanning salon, his rich, mocha skin was even more lustrous than usual and his dense, black hair was clipped nearly down to his scalp, exaggerating his bull neck. Black tribal tattoos twined down his arms and up his legs and his distended tits were pierced with huge rings.

All of this was probably shocking enough to the straight-laced executive but it was Papi’s monstrously huge bulge straining against the sheer confines of his chili pepper red thong that made Justin’s eyes pop out of his head. For good reason! Thanks to the loving work of Papito’s husband, a wealthy Mexican doctor named Sergio Jiménez, the hulking brute’s ridiculously enhanced cock and balls were the main attraction on Friday nights when the muscle boys danced on the main stage. The patrons simply couldn’t get enough of his stupendously bloated meat…and neither could Álvaro, if the truth be told. He knew he should be repulsed by the dude’s crazily stretched-out endowment but his massive tube and dangling coconuts had quite the opposite effect on him. Like the club patrons, Álvaro fucking loved watching Papito perform!

“Hola, Alvi!” Papito chirped in a girlish voice as he swayed past them. Much to Álvaro’s delight, Papito smiled coyly at his devouring stare.

Turning sideways to give the giant man room to pass, Álvaro laughed and pinched one of the guy’s preternaturally large ass cheeks, noting approvingly that Papito’s daddy doc hadn’t spared any expense–or body part–in his quest to bloat his beautiful boy beyond belief. Making liberal use of both synthol and silicone, he had vaulted Papito straight into muscle bull demigod status. His lips, pecs, abs, ass, cock, and balls were all testament to this. Nobody, not even the biggest ‘roid bull out there, rivaled Papito. Too bad he’s dumb as a fucking stump, Álvaro thought, shaking his head. Or, then again, maybe that’s a bonus?

Justin’s revulsion was palpable as Papito lumbered past and, only when he noticed Álvaro’s scrutiny, did he bother to school his features. For his part, Álvaro took evil delight in watching the prim young man’s discomfort. El Agujero might be part of a vast conglomerate of businesses but it was unique in being filled with loveable freaks like Papito. Álvaro was very proud that, under his supervision, both the club’s profitability and its status as a refuge for freaks had steadily increased. Yes, thanks to him and those big profits, El Agujero was safe from downsizing or liquidation and would remain a gay haven for years to come. He fucking loved the place!

“What?” Álvaro quipped, not even trying to hide his amusement at Justin’s distaste for the musclebound beast. “Taking notes for your wedding night with Aimee? Bet she’d love it if you dr–”

“Mr. Dias,” Justin interrupted him sternly. “You will refrain from mentioning my fiance or my personal life while I am here. Do you understand?”

If he expected Álvaro to be chastened, he was sorely disappointed; his words had quite the opposite effect. Grinning broadly back at him, Álvaro raised his hand in a mock salute, shouting, “Sir! Yes, sir!”

There was a startled pause during which Mr. Reardon stared back at him in disbelief. It was readily apparent that the young man was not used to being mocked or challenged by anyone and he was not about to stand for it now. Face deep red, Reardon reared up, standing on his toes to get in Álvaro’s face as he seethed, “You will not address me in such a manner or I shall have you…removed…from your position here. Are we clear?”

The young man’s clear blue eyes bored into him as Álvaro very calmly lifted his hand and stifled a yawn. When he spoke, his voice was even and his tone light as he replied, “Listen, Justin, let’s get one thing besides you straight here: You don’t have the balls to fire me and, even if you did, you would be overruled by your superiors.”

Not waiting for the kid to respond, he turned and sauntered into the open elevator. The door whooshed closed before him, cutting off Reardon’s indignant bark of protest.

***

A tall, handsome man dressed in an exquisitely tailored but old-fashioned blue suit and a porkpie hat was standing at the elevator when the doors opened. He seemed vaguely familiar and Álvaro realized he’d seen him at the club a few times over the past year. Yeah, now that he thought about it, he remembered the guy pretty well. He was usually accompanied by a young, off-duty cop who was smoking hot. Lopez was the cop’s name and this guy’s name was Bortni-something.

Álvaro remembered the guy’s name just as the man was turning toward. Smiling broadly, he extended his hand, saying, “Mr. Bortnikov! You’re here early.”

Bortnikov’s hand was immense and his grip crushing but his face broke into a gentle smile when he made eye contact with Álvaro. “I’m here on business, Mr. Dias,” he said in a deep voice tinged with a Russian accent. He reached down and patted a package tucked under his arm before continuing, “I have delivery for a certain Mr. Reardon. The corporate office sent me; they said it was important that I deliver it to him immediately. Would you happen to know where I might find him?”

Ah, Álvaro thought, that explains why Izzy didn’t call me. I didn’t know that Bortnikov worked at HQ. Good thing I’ve always been nice to him!

“He’s upstairs, sir,” Álvaro explained. “He was on the third floor a second ago. He’s probably still up there but I could page him if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the Russian replied, flashing Álvaro another quick smile. “I shall find him. I thank you very much for your assistance in this matter, Mr. Dias.”

Bemused by the man’s formal manner, Álvaro nodded. “My pleasure, sir. Always happy to help.”

Bortnikov tipped his hat and stepped into the elevator that Álvaro had just vacated. In a second, the doors had closed and he was gone.

***

Álvaro refused to give up his office and instead made Mr. Reardon take over a small cubicle in the accounting office next door. This did nothing to endear him to the new executive but Álvaro didn’t give a shit. He’d had it with the arrogant fuck. The guy needed to learn that people weren’t going to bow and scrape before him just because he outranked them. Leadership was a contract based on social capital and Mr. Reardon had done nothing to earn his.

Fortunately, he didn’t see Reardon the rest of the evening and half expected him to bail the next day. It wasn’t as if anyone from corporate would be checking that he completed the entire five days of his ‘training’. On Saturday afternoon, Álvaro was therefore a little surprised when Izzy buzzed up to his office, asking if Justin had permission to enter the building. In the background, Álvaro could hear the young man complaining that he was a manager of the company and entitled to full access to the establishment. Izzy talked over him, asking, “Is it Ok to let him in, Jefe? He seems kinda sketchy.”

Álvaro laughed, saying, “Yeah, let him in. Let him in. He’ll be here until Wednesday so you don’t need to keep calling me.”

He looked up at a polite knock on his office door a few minutes later and Mr. Reardon stepped inside. He’d ditched the suit from the day before in favor of a pair of khakis and a green polo. He looked marginally less uptight.

“Mr. Dias,” he began hesitantly, looking down at the carpet before continuing, “I want to apologize for my…behavior and attitude yesterday. I was disrespectful and you didn’t deserve it.”

Álvaro blinked. The kid actually sounded contrite! 

In a state of disbelief, he got up from his desk and extended his hand to the young man, saying, “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” Reardon reached out and they shook cordially as Álvaro remarked, “Wow, that took guts, Mr. Rear–”

“Justin,” Reardon corrected. “Please call me Justin. Or JR, if you prefer.”

Álvaro blinked again. The kid was full of surprises today! “Sure, Justin. Wow, I’m–Wow!–just really–”

“Please, Mr. Dias,” Reardon said, lifting a hand. “Don’t. You don’t have to–”

“Álvaro. Call me Álvaro, please,” he offered before murmuring. “Wow, I’ve never had anyone from corporate–”

“Mr. Dias, you don’t need to explain,” Reardon said, shaking his head. “I went home last night and thought long and hard about…everything…and realized how I must have sounded. I was just really, you know, uncomfortable being here and I get…prickly when I feel out of my element.”

“Aimee gave you a lecture, didn’t she?” Álvaro commented wryly and laughed when Justin colored. “I like her already.”

Reardon chose to ignore his question, clearing his throat and asking brightly, “Now, would you mind giving me another tour? I think this time you’ll find that I will conduct myself much more professionally.”

***

“Where are they?” Justin asked, craning his neck around the corner in the dressing room off the main stage. He seemed disappointed at finding the room empty.

“They?”

“The dancers from last night,” Justin replied. “Why aren’t they here?”

“That’s a Friday night thing,” Álvaro explained, spreading his hands. “Saturday night is drag queens and show tunes but the performers won’t be here until after nine.”

“Oh.”

“Some of the guys will be here later, though,” Álvaro offered. “They like to mingle with the weekend crowd. El Agujero is a musclehead hangout.” He paused, studying Justin for a moment. The guy seemed oddly anxious about something. Slowly, a light went on and he asked, “Do you want me to introduce you to some of them?”

Justin’s cheeks colored and he squirmed, saying, “Uh, no, that’s Ok. I mean, well, if you wouldn’t mind.” Realizing how this sounded, he added quickly, “I just wanna ask them for advice on lifting is all. I wanna get swole for the wedding pics.”

Álvaro nodded, smiling to himself at Justin’s new, casual tone and his desire to bulk up. “Oh, for sure! I’m happy to,” he said, still smiling. “They’re super nice dudes.” He couldn’t resist puffing out his (well-muscled) chest a bit and offering, “I lift, too, you know. If you have any questions…”

Justin blinked, seeming to notice for the first time Álvaro’s bulging pecs and stalwart thighs. Álvaro wasn’t a muscle beast by any stretch but he was proud of his assets and loved having a job where he could show them off.

The silence stretched between them as Justin continued to eye Álvaro’s bumps, ridges, and bulges lingeringly. Álvaro’s dick twitched in his chinos and he was acutely aware of the beat of the club music reverberating through the walls, pulsing like a second heartbeat against his ribcage in the cramped dressing room. The silence stretched so long that it was rapidly approaching awkward territory when Justin finally shook himself and said, “Thanks, man. I really appreciate the offer. I’ll take you on it, too.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving poor Álvaro, riled and horned up, behind him.

***

The doorbell to his condo rang at ten the next morning and Álvaro stumbled out of bed, answering the door wearing only his boxers. He yelped and jumped behind the frame when he saw Justin staring up at him from the steps, a shy smile on his face and a gym bag slung over his shoulder. The young guy was wearing a baggy pair of shorts and a voluminous t-shirt that did nothing to conceal his skinny physique.

“You ready to hit the gym, Papi?” he asked, grinning slyly at his use of the Spanish term for ‘daddy’.

Álvaro was momentarily speechless as he wondered how the hell the kid had tracked him down. Probably looked me up in the HR database, he thought, shaking his head. “Uh, sure, Justin,” he replied slowly. “Lemme get some clothes on first, Ok?”

If the young guy was uncomfortable with Álvaro’s lack of attire, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed the opposite of uncomfortable as he breezed past him into the apartment, not even waiting for an invitation to enter. “Sure, dude,” he said over his shoulder. “Take your time. I don’t mind waiting.” He paused as he took in the decor of Álvaro’s place, nodding with approval at its austere, post-modern furnishings. He was particularly impressed by Álvaro’s private, in-ground pool, making a big show of admiring it. (‘Man, I fucking wish I had one of those at my apartment! I’d lie out in the sun all day!’)

When Álvaro disappeared into the bedroom to don some workout clothes, Justin called out, “If you don’t mind me finding my way around your kitchen, I can make some breakfast for you while you wait. You like scrambled eggs? You have eggs, right?”

“Yes, to your first question and yeah, I love ‘em,” Álvaro yelled, shaking his head at the young guy’s strangely friendly behavior. What had gotten into him? He’d started out as such an arrogant, spoiled prick but now…Shit! Now, he didn’t know what to think.

“Great!” Justin chirped, rubbing his hands together. “Huevos revueltos coming right up!”

***

After a surprisingly good breakfast, they headed downtown to Álvaro’s gym, a seedy place in the middle of the barrio that was a favorite haunt of Latino muscleheads. Justin was the only white guy in the place when they walked in but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes lit up when he noticed a bunch of beefy guys lifting free weights in the center of the gym and he turned to Álvaro, a pleading look on his face.

“Can we work out with them?” he asked, his voice trembling with barely suppressed excitement.

“Yeah, sure,” Álvaro started to reply, his voice trailing off when he saw that Justin was already on his way over to the group. He shook his head, following along behind. This is gonna be interesting, he thought as Justin approached one of the guys, hand extended and a worshipful expression on his face.

Largely due to Álvaro’s presence, the guys welcomed Justin into the fold, patiently teaching him how to hold the weights and refraining from making faces when his skinny arms buckled under the weight of relatively light barbells. He impressed them, though, with his zeal to learn and near fluency in Spanish. Shit, Álvaro thought in amazement as he listened to Justin chat away with his new friends, the kid speaks better Spanish than I do!

Álvaro grew tired of working out before Justin did and he took leave of the group, wandering into the locker room to shower off and get dressed in his street clothes. Emerging fifteen minutes later, he saw Justin pocket something that one of the men handed him. He was evasive, though, when Álvaro pressed him about the contents of the mysterious package.

“It’s nothing, just some vitamins,” he said, eyes darting off to the side. “Supplements the bros said would help me bulk up.”

“Oh?” Álvaro queried, voice dripping with skepticism. “You’re a rich guy and could stop by any GNC in town to buy legal supplements. Why would you need to get them from these guys?”

“It’s just a sample pack,” Justin said, shrugging. “I’ll buy more from the store when these are gone.”

Álvaro stopped, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Justin, knock off the bullshit, Ok? I know what he gave you and I’m telling you not to take them. I love bulked-up muscles as much as the next guy but steroids are fucking dangerous!”

Justin’s lip poked out mutinously as he stared up at Álvaro, making him look more than a little like a spoiled little kid. “What about you?” he pouted, pointedly staring at Álvaro’s mounded chest. “Why do you take them if they’re so dangerous?”

“I don’t take ‘roids and never have! These tits,” Álvaro replied, motioning down to his giant pecs, “are 100 percent natural. I got them by working out–and working out hard!–for years. Do you think I magically grew them overnight?”

Crossing his arms and settling back on his heels, Justin pushed back. “Pfft. I don’t believe it. There’s no way a guy could get as big as you without some help and I intend to get it!”

“Listen, man,” Álvaro said, reaching out to take Justin’s furry chin in his hand and lifting his face upward so the kid couldn’t look away. “I am being honest. I have never taken steroids and I never will.” When Justin rolled his eyes, Álvaro persisted, “I am asking you as a friend, Justin, not to do it. The gains aren’t worth it! They’re not fucking worth it!”

Justin shook his head, freeing himself from Álvaro’s hold and stalking off to the showers. “You’re not my fucking father!” he spat over his shoulder before turning and spreading out his arms. “In fact, I outrank you. I’m not gonna listen to you!”

***

Wednesday night rolled around and Justin showed up dressed in a pair of skintight jeans and a black tank top. A new Superman tattoo, still fresh with drying blood, adorned his left deltoid. Álvaro looked up at him appraisingly from his desk, mind struggling to wrap itself around the young man’s ongoing, mysterious transformation.

“Tonight’s your last night, isn’t it?” he asked as he surveyed Justin’s attire. “Did ya decide to cut loose and hang out with the boys before getting hitched?”

“It’s not my last night,” Justin pronounced, puffing out his chest. Álvaro raised an eyebrow when he saw the beginnings of pectorals pressing against the sheer fabric. Clearly, the ‘roids were beginning to have an effect. The kids eyes were almost feverish as he continued, “And my engagement is off. I broke up with Aimee this morning and got this tattoo to commemorate the occasion. I’m fucking Superman, dude! Nothing can stop me now!” 

He leaned over the desk, shoving his tattoo in Álvaro’s face and flexing provocatively. Álvaro shook his head, lifting his eyes heavenward to wonder yet again what was going on with Justin. (WTF? Is he on drugs?)

“I asked HQ for an extension on my training,” Justin explained, sauntering around the front of the desk and settling his butt down on the desktop squarely before a startled Álvaro. As Álvaro gaped up at him, heart pounding in time with DJ Sam’s distant dance music, Justin leaned back and spread his legs, placing his feet on the armrests on either side of Álvaro’s chest. With the utmost confidence and nonchalance, he ran a hand through his shaggy hair (he’d stopped adding gel to it over the weekend), declaring, “And I’ll be here at least through the summer, maybe longer.”

“Th-Th-Through the summer?” Álvaro managed to stammer, his tongue thick in his throat. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of the obvious bugle tenting out the kid’s jeans. “And corporate granted that? I thought–”

“Well, you thought wrong, Mr. Dias,” Justin cut in. “They wouldn’t grant the extension so I quit my job and you just hired me as the new bartender.”

“I did?” Álvaro squeaked, hating how Justin’s provocative behavior had befuddled him. 

As the boy stared him down, the corners of his mouth drawn up in a impudent grin, Álvaro struggled to find the will to assert his authority. Finally, with herculean effort, he managed to pull himself back together. He was the manager of a gay club after all; he’d had plenty of experience with kids attempting to seduce him to get what they wanted.

He pushed himself away from the desk and, while Justin grappled to regain his balance on the desktop, he stood up, demanding, “Hire you? As a bartender? Now why would I do that when you have absolutely no experience?” Not caring if the other employees heard him, he continued, his voice rising in volume with each word, “And why the goddamned fuck would you go and do something so stupid and quit your fucking cake-ass job to work as a drink slinger in a fucking queer bar?”

His angry tone surprised Justin and his expression clouded momentarily before he, too, recovered his footing and launched himself off the desk at Álvaro. Drawing himself up to his full height, he yelled back, “BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO!”

Álvaro clenched his fists and got directly in Justin’s face, screaming back, “DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!”

Not to be outdone, Justin leaned in, his eyes glowing maniacally and spittle flying from his mouth as he bellowed, “AND DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME LIKE YOU’RE MY FATHER!”

Realizing belatedly that their lips were less than an inch apart, both men fell silent, chests heaving. Álvaro was the first to recover, taking a step backward and wiping the sweat off his brow. Justin watched him, a cat-that-ate-the-canary look on his handsome face. Sinking back down on his heels, he ran a hand through his unruly hair and flashed Álvaro a wry smile. His voice was perfectly calm as he asked, “Now, are you gonna hire me?”

Justin Reardon began training as a bartender at El Agujero that same evening.

***

Part 2

For professional reasons, Álvaro kept his distance from Justin after hiring him as a bartender. He couldn’t afford to fuck up a good situation by playing around with an employee. He had worked hard to land his position as manager and knew it would be difficult to find another job that paid so well. It was a matter of pride, too. His employees respected him largely because of his professional behavior and he wasn’t going to jeopardize their trust. In some ways, he’d already crossed the line with Justin and had to be careful going forward. The kid wasn’t really his type–he preferred dark-skinned, beefy muscle dudes with a little extra fat–but he couldn’t deny feeling a certain spark whenever the guy was around. Fortunately, he knew himself well enough to keep temptation away and he successfully managed to avoid Justin for over a week.

It wasn’t easy. 

Justin tried to engage him, texting him about going to the gym and sending him friend requests on social media, but Álvaro ignored them. For his mixology training, he assigned his best tender, Juan Obregón, as Justin’s mentor and stationed them at the rooftop bar, a favorite hangout for the club’s younger set. Justin was a apt student and learned the basics quickly. Within a week, he could hold his own and Juan moved back down to the basement bar where most of the action was. (The basement was the club’s leather bar and a favorite haunt of the muscle bros.) 

Everything went great until the Friday about a little over a week after Justin started tending bar. Álvaro’s desk phone buzzed and he lifted an eyebrow when he saw it was the basement extension. He sighed, picking up the receiver.

“Hey, Boss. We got a problem.” It was the bartender, Juan, and he sounded upset.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“It’s the new tender, Justí,” he said and Álvaro to smiled at the spangilzation of Justin’s name. “He keeps leaving the bar upstairs and coming down here. There’s no one up there and the clients are pissed.”

Álvaro’s smile turned into a frown and he swore under his breath, ordering, “Tell him to get his ass to my office right now.” He paused before adding, “And, Juan, thanks for letting me know.” He dropped the handset onto the cradle and lifted his eyes upward in a silent prayer for serenity. Why did Justin have to be so difficult?

A half hour later, Justin swaggered into his office, not even bothering to knock.

Álvaro looked up from his desk, scowling. “Justin, what the fuck?” he barked. “It took you thirty minutes to–”  He stopped, voice dying in his throat as he registered Justin’s changes. He fish-mouthed several times before recovering and clapping his jaw shut.

“You were sayin’?” Justin drawled, crossing his arms and lifting his chin insouciantly.

“Justin,” Álvaro said, struggling to regain both his composure and the upper hand. “Did you dye your hair?”

The young guy smiled, running a hand through his thick hair. No longer blond; it was a rich, dark brown. On top of this, Álvaro could have sworn that he detected a hint of a Puerto Rican accent when he answered, “Nope. This is my natural color. You like?”

“And are those contact lenses?” Álvaro pressed, ignoring the question.

“Nah, dude. I’ve always had brown eyes.” 

He lowered his eyes and Álvaro noticed that his lashes were really long and dark brown…just like his hair. WTF? Álvaro was certain that Justin had blond hair and blue eyes! Did the kid think he was a total idiot? He scowled, realizing a good gaslighting when he saw one and was preparing to call him on it when he noticed that Justin had shaved his beard, too. The effect was disorienting and…undeniably attractive. Álvaro cleared his throat, aware that his cock was hardening in his pants.

A smile, or rather a smirk, formed on Justin’s lips as he watched Álvaro’s struggle.

No, Álvaro! he chastised himself. Don’t let him do this to you! You’re the boss here and he’s your employee. Be strong!

He clenched his jaw and leaned over his desk, gripping the edges with his big hands. He had just about succeeded in rallying his natural assertiveness when he caught sight of those luscious pecs pushing out against Justin’s super tight t-shirt. His resolve, already tenuous began to dissolve.

Justin, of course, was not blind to the effect he was having and puffed out his chest, causing his pert nipples to poke out in a most alluring manner. Álvaro’s cheeks grew hot as Justin teased, “You needed to talk to me ‘bout something…Papi?” Very casually, he reached down and cupped his crotch, adjusting himself. When he moved his hand away, there was an obvious bulge tenting out the crotch of his jeans.

“Don’t…don’t…don’t call me that,” Álvaro managed to gasp as the last of his willpower burned to ash in the suddenly sultry air of his office. He moaned a little as his cock pulsed in his pants.

“Call you what, Papi?” Justin pressed, sauntering slowly over to the desk. His arms, Álvaro couldn’t help noticing, were looking pumped. The skinny Justin was quickly disappearing! This boy was well on his way to getting swole.

Not giving up without a fight, Álvaro took a deep breath, studiously avoiding eye contact as he ordered, “Justin, I need you to stay at your post on the top floor. You can visit the basement bar when you’re offshift.”

Justin shifted position, moving directly into Álvaro’s line of sight. He wet his lips with his tongue as his smirk grew into a wide grin. “I got a better idea, Papi. How ‘bout if you assign me to the basement bar and move Juan to the roof?” To emphasize his point, he thrust his crotch forward. There was no mistaking the erection throbbing against the skin-tight fabric.

“Justin, I’m your boss and you will do wh–” Álvaro started to warn but Justin cut him off.

“Know what, Papi?” the kid taunted. “How ‘bout if we settle this the old fashioned way and whip out our dicks and compare? We need to settle once and for all who’s the real boss around here.”

Before Álvaro could react, Justin reached out and grabbed his belt, wrestling it open and yanking down his pants. A moment later, Álvaro stared in shock down at his liberated member jutting out before him. My mind blanked, unable to believe what had just happened. He’d never been naked at work! Never! Justin had really done it! Justin had torn open his pants! How could… 

Next to him, Justin distracted him from his panic by loosening his own belt and wiggling his jeans down his thighs. He grunted as his huge erection sprang free, slapping hard against his shaved stomach.

“Looks like I’m the boss,” Justin pronounced, lifting his hands behind his head and wagging his long, fat, uncut member in front of Álvaro. “But you got nothing to be ashamed of, Papi,” he said, reaching down to playfully bat at Álvaro’s much fatter but slightly shorter cock. “Nah, ya got nothing to be ashamed of at all,” he repeated, licking his lips again. “That’s one fine piece ya got down there.”

In a flash, he was on his knees, swallowing Álvaro’s cock in one gulp. Incredibly, he fit the whole thing in his mouth and Álvaro’s vision exploded as the boy’s tongue and lips rapidly worked him to an explosive orgasm. Crying out, he coated the back of Justin’s mouth with cum even as he grabbed the boy’s head and pulled him inward. Justin was more than happy to oblige, somehow managing to swallow even more of Álvaro in the process. When he finally pulled away and Álvaro’s softening cock flopped out, Justin grinned mischievously up at him, cum dribbling out of his lips. He stuffed his still-hard cock back into his jeans and zipped up as Álvaro gulped for air, head spinning and body still thrumming with the delicious release.

“Well, Papi?” the boy prompted, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “What’s it gonna be? Rooftop or basement?”

Dazed, all Álvaro could do was stare down at him.

When he didn’t say anything, Justin heaved himself to his feet and ambled toward the door, oozing self-congratulatory pride with every step. When he got to the door, he paused and thrust his hip out, looking back over his shoulder. Álvaro flushed when he saw what had become of the guy’s ass. No longer the skinny, shapeless, white-boy butt he remembered, Justin’s ass cheeks had grown broader and squarer as he’d bulked up. The young man’s black jeans hugged them, rendering them both tantalizing and voluptuous. 

Justin smirked at Álvaro’s hungry look and, batting his long, dark eyelashes, said finally, “If ya move me to the basement, I’ll make it worth yer while.”

***

Álvaro moved Juan to the rooftop bar and gave him a huge raise in the effort to forestall his complaints. If the bartender was unhappy with the reassignment, he didn’t show it but Álvaro knew from the look in Juan’s eyes every time he passed by him in the hallway that the guy was onto him. It made Álvaro feel horrible and he worried constantly about how his treatment of Justin was perceived by the rest of the staff. He felt ashamed of himself for giving into the guy’s charms but something about Justin was irresistible and he lost all reason when the boy was nearby.

He went to elaborate lengths to avoid being in the same room with Justin but the young guy always managed to hunt him down. One evening not long after their interlude in the office, Justin came up behind him while Álvaro was sneaking up the backstairs.

“And where d’ya think yer going, Papi?” he asked, grabbing him by the waist and whirling him around. His mouth was over Álvaro’s before he could resist.

They groped each other for a long time, eventually working off most of their clothes. Finally, Álvaro managed to pull away long enough to gasp, “Justin! What’s wrong with you? I thought you were straight?”

Justin laughed. “I am straight. What’s yer excuse?” He smiled lazily up at him and Álvaro noticed that his pupils were dilated. When he exhaled, his breath smelled of alcohol.

Álvaro was about to say something when Justin smothered his mouth again with a kiss, ramming his tongue down his throat and moving Álvaro’s hands down to his buttocks. Álvaro’s cock pulsed almost painfully when he registered the size and heft of those amazing globes. Holy fucking shit! he thought, overcome with desire. Now that’s an ass!

“Like it?” Justin teased, turning his mouth to the side and nuzzling Álvaro’s neck. “It’ll be all yours when I move in with you.”

“Move in with me?” Álvaro gasped weakly. “What’re you–”

“Got kicked out of my apartment today. Aimee took me off the lease. I’m fucking homeless!”

Álvaro’s brain wasn’t working very well but he was coherent enough to call bullshit on this lie. “Homeless? You?” he protested. “You’re fucking loaded. Why don’t you ask your mommy and daddy for help?”

“I am askin’ Daddy fer help,” Justin teased in a slurred voice. When Álvaro slapped him hard on the ass, he chuckled, explaining, “And I can’t ask ‘em ‘cuz they aren’t talkin’ to me.” When Álvaro was still unconvinced, he became rapidly and inexplicably exasperated, all but yelling, “C’mon, man! Help me out here! I’m fuckin’ broke. The ‘roids alone cost a fucking fortune and I don’t make shit in tips here. That’s why I gotta get more swole. The guys in the basement don’t tip unless you’re huge!”

Increasingly worked up, he thumped his fists against Álvaro’s chest in frustration. After a while, the pounding began to hurt and Álvaro tried to stop him, grabbing his wrists and wrestling with him. Justin might be shorter than he was but his weight training (and steroid injections) had paid off and it took everything Álvaro had to restrain him. After a tense struggle, though, Álvaro finally got the upper hand. 

Holding him tight, he shouted, “Whoa, boy! Easy! Easy! It’s Ok. I’ll let you move in with me.”

Unfortunately, Justin was so out of control by then that he didn’t seem to hear him and continued to yell, his face growing bright red and his eyes blazing as he screamed, “You gotta help me! Help me! HELP ME, PAPI!” 

Álvaro watched with increasing alarm as drool ran out of his mouth and his expression turned maniacal. There was little he could do, though, beyond continuing to hold him tightly and murmur soothingly in his ear. After a long time, Justin wore himself out and sagged against him, chest heaving. Álvaro was surprised when he heard a muffled sob and looked down to see the guy was crying.

“Hey, come on, man,” he soothed. “It’s Ok. It’s Ok.”

“I-I-I’m just, ya know. It’s so–” Justin sobbed. “I can’t–”

“Shhh, niño. Shhh,” Álvaro murmured, kissing his ear. “We’ll get you set up at my place and then we’ll get you off of whatever the fuck it is you’re taking. I can’t have you raging like this at my condo.”

He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

***

“Sah-weeet!” Justin exclaimed as he strode into Álvaro’s condo that night. Letting his duffle bag slide off his shoulder onto the floor, he all but ran toward the patio, calling out behind him, “Can I take a dip in yer pool?”

He didn’t wait for permission before yanking his jeans off and pulling his shirt over his head. In a second, he had stripped down to a tiny jockstrap and dashed through the sliding glass door to dive headlong into the sparkling water. Álvaro watched the kid’s beautiful, beefy ass disappear beneath the surface with stunned disbelief, glad that he had planted the tall shrubs to block the neighbors’ view.

He followed the boy out, closing the glass door behind him and savoring the splendor laid bare before him. Despite feeling (a lot of) trepidation at what he was getting himself into by letting Justin move in with him, he couldn’t deny the effect that Justin had on his cock. The sight of the muscular stud lazily doing the frog kick toward him, illuminated from below by the pool lights, was enough to get him boned. Shrugging, he reached down and freed himself from his own clothes, wading into the water in his square-cut, black boxers.

“Yer my big, strong Papi!” Justin cooed, swimming up and wrapping his arms around him.

Álvaro laughed, letting his hands slide down to cup those burgeoning ass cheeks. He played with the little straps straining to contain those delicious mounds of cake and buried his face in Justin’s neck. He nibbled, making Justin giggle like a little boy.

“I will earn my keep, Papi, I swear!” he said, lifting his head and kissing Álvaro on the lips. “I’ll cook and clean and be yer pool boy!”

Álvaro was so taken aback by this endearing pronouncement that he almost forgot about Justin’s ‘roid rage earlier that night. Almost. “Justin,” he queried gently, lifting his mouth to whisper in the boy’s ear. “What were you on earlier?”

“Nuthin’.”

“Uh huh. C’mon, you can tell your papi.”

Justin snickered, standing on his toes and pushing his crotch against Álvaro’s. His cock was hard and getting harder by the second. When he spoke, his voice was light. “Just sumthin’ the bros gave me. Sumthin’ to help me relax.”

“Ahhh, I see. You been raging a lot lately?”

“Maybe.” Justin sounded so small, so helpless that it turned Álvaro on more than his huge hardon pressing against his cock. He had restrain himself from turning the boy around and fucking the shit out of him then and there.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Álvaro said, “Well, whatever they gave you didn’t work. I know I’m can’t talk you out of juicing but I do think you should back off a bit. Give your body time to adjust.”

“I’m way ahead of ya, Papi!” Justin breathed, leaning his cheek against Álvaro’s shoulder. “Way ahead of ya.”

“How so?” (God, he wanted to fuck this kid so badly right now! This was torture!)

“I’ve been talking with Sergio. He’s gonna help me out.”

Álvaro froze. “Sergio? You mean Dr. Jiménez? Papito’s husband?”

“Yah. That’s him.”

“Justin–”

The kid didn’t let him finish, purposely distracting him by reaching into Álvaro’s boxers and taking his cock in his hand. Looking up at him coyly, he pushed Álvaro backward onto the steps into the pool. He sat down in the water, his cock pointing hard and ready up at the night sky. Overhead, clouds drifted across the waning moon, throwing them into darkness except for the dim light of the submerged pool lamps. There was just enough light for Álvaro to catch the flash of Justin’s smile as he waded out of the pool to fold onto his hands and knees on the patio. 

When the last wisps of cloud scudded past the descending orb of the moon, Álvaro was treated to a stupendous view: Justin, looking seductively back over his shoulder at him, very slowly and deliberately arching his back and pushing his buttocks out as he spread his knees wide. His tight, perfect pucker–still wet and juicy from the pool–poked out invitingly. The straps of his jock framed his blocky ass cheeks so perfectly that the sight drove Álvaro nearly insane with lust.

All reasoning evaporating, Álvaro became a wild animal intent on one thing and one thing only: Driving his new boy to the outer reaches of ecstasy as he wrecked his virgin hole. Justin never was able to tighten up fully after that night and often complained that Álvaro had destroyed his asshole. It never stopped him from coming back for more, though. No, he couldn’t get enough of Papi’s cock after that. 

Álvaro made sure of it.

***

Part 3

Justin moved all of his stuff into Álvaro’s condo over the course of the next week, eventually filling his cupboards with protein powder and boxes of muscle-building supplements. The medicine cabinet overflowed with his steroid bottles, syringes, and a host of (mostly illegal) pills he downed by the handful in his quest to bulk up. He set up his sound system in the living room and racked his free weights on the patio. Much to Álvaro’s pleasure, he preferred to wear next to nothing at home and frequently could be found lounging naked by the pool or napping in a miniscule jockstrap on the sofa, flipping through Netflix. Officially, he resided in the guest bedroom off the patio but Álvaro usually woke up to find him cuddled up against him in bed.

Álvaro was completely smitten with the boy, easily forgetting how much he’d despised Justin when he first met him. In fact, it was difficult to even remember that Justin–or, rather, Mr. Reardon–because the boy had changed so much both in appearance and temperament.

And he was changing more every day.

His rapid and radical changes were both a huge turn on and a bit concerning to Álvaro but he didn’t spend much time worrying. He was having too much fun exploring the new and exciting possibilities of life with his pool boy and sex toy!

Justin Reardon was hot as fuck!

He returned one morning from the farmer’s market to find Justin cleaning the pool, naked as the day he was born. He paused in the living room, doing a double take. Shit! he thought, feeling his nearly omnipresent erection throb in his shorts, the kid’s really getting dark! All of those hours working out in the sun by the pool were really having an effect on Justin’s previously lily-white skin. If it weren’t for Justin’s strong European facial features, he’d have sworn the boy was a fucking natural-born Puerto Rican! 

He placed the groceries on the counter and sat down, idly massaging his cock in his shorts as he watched his pool boy squat down to retrieve a stray leaf from the water. Justin’s booty no longer resembled anything you’d find on a white guy and was approaching Álvaro’s danger zone–the size, shape, and heft beyond which he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck! The kid is growing quite the ass! And then there was his pucker. Álvaro smiled proudly to himself when Justin’s big cheeks spread apart, revealing his stretched-out hole. Christ, it was almost a man cunt and it was all his doing! He loved that he’d left his mark permanently on the formerly uptight straight boy. For the rest of his life, Justin would be reminded of Álvaro when he fingered his gaping hole. Fuck, yeah! He fucking loved it!

Justin must have felt his eyes on him because he looked over his shoulder and, shading his gorgeous brown eyes, stared into the living room. His face split into a wide grin when he spotted Álvaro ogling him and he waggled his butt, making his generous cheeks jiggle salaciously, before he stood up and bounded into the condo.

“Papi!” he exclaimed happily, settling onto Álvaro’s lap and bouncing up and down until Álvaro made him stop. “Ya left without eating breakfast! Lemme make ya breakfast!” 

Álvaro laughed, patting Justin’s ample buttocks as he joked, “Cake. How ‘bout cake for breakfast?”

Justin giggled, leaning back against Álvaro’s chest for a moment before hopping off his lap and busying himself in the kitchen. In minutes, he’d whipped up a frittata using the eggs and veggies Álvaro had brought home from the market. While it was baking in the oven, he prepared a high-protein smoothie for his own breakfast. He never deviated from his strict dietary regimen, never even took a cheat day. Álvaro had no idea how he could stand eating the flavorless crap that he concocted but couldn’t deny that the results were worth it; he had the hottest pool boy around!

Álvaro watched his boy work for him with relish, murmuring praise every time Justin bent over or reached for something, causing his butt and pecs to sway alluringly. By the time breakfast was ready, he was in such a horned-up state that he couldn’t wait and tackled the boy, toppling him to the floor. Before he could recover, Álvaro lay down on his back, slicking up his cock with spit, and grabbed his boy by the waist, forcing him to squat directly over his waiting pole. Justin needed no further encouragement. In seconds, he was squealing with delight as he pumped his ass up and down, driving his papi’s cock deep inside his hot hole. A lurid slurping sound accompanied their carnal antics, adding gasoline to Álvaro’s building fire.

It didn’t take long for him to explode inside his boy and Justin, demonstrating his growing skill as a lover, slowly came to rest on top of him, his brown face glowing and sweat dripping down his shaved chest. Álvaro’s cum trickled out of him, pooling around the base of his cock, and the scent of Justin’s most intimate fragrance filled the air. Álvaro inhaled deeply, savoring his musky aroma and looked up at him, feeling his heart expand in his chest. He murmured, “Te amo, Justin. Te amo mucho,” almost before he realized what he was saying.

His words had an instant effect on the boy and he lowered his long lashes, his face breaking into a beatific smile. When he opened his eyes, they were glistening with tears. “Yo te amo, Papi, y te quiero, también!”

He collapsed on top of Álvaro and clung to him, his papi’s softening pole still lodged inside of his ass, and they kissed tenderly and deeply for a long time. Somehow, Álvaro ended up on top of the boy and, feeling his cock stiffening again, treated Justin to a lingering fuck that climaxed with the young man spraying his bulging pecs and ridged abdominals with loads of spew. Álvaro leaned down and licked it off, taking delight both in the potent flavor (Did steroids affect the taste of your cum?) and in teasing the boy’s big nipples with his tongue.

When he pulled back, he found Justin looking down at himself in confusion. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, reaching out to caress his lover’s cheek.

“Does my cock look smaller to you?”

Álvaro chuckled. “Does it matter? With an ass like yours, you could have a pussy between your legs and I wouldn’t care.”

Justin grimaced. “I’m being serious, Alvi! D’ya think my cock’s shrinkin’?”

Sighing, Álvaro rolled off of him and helped him to his feet. They stood facing each other as Álvaro surveyed his beautiful boy’s body. Doing so got him boned again and he reached down to massage his shaft, moaning softly as he breathed, “You’re looking hotter all the time, man! I can barely control myself when you’re around.”

“Shhh, Papi!” Justin complained as he stared down at himself. “Sumthin’s wrong. Sumthin’s wrong with me!” 

He cupped his freshly-shaved cock and balls in his hand and examined them, rolling them around critically. They were tanned so dark that they were almost black, something that caused Álvaro’s cock to rise up further. He forced his attention away from his arousal and squinted down at Justin’s package. Now that he was flaccid, Álvaro had to admit that his cock did look a bit shrunken. And his balls were, well, they were pretty small. Maybe the kid was right? Maybe he was a bit smaller down there?

A light went on and he exhaled sharply, saying, “It’s the ‘roids, Justin! I’m pretty sure that ‘roids will make your junk atrophy.”

Justin looked up at him in confusion. “A-a-a-trophy? Wuzzat mean?”

“Shrink. It means shrink,” Álvaro explained, shaking his head. How could Justin not know what ‘atrophy’ meant? He’d graduated the top of his class in university! “I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it as long as you keep taking ‘em,” he continued before adding carelessly, “Just like you can’t do anything about your bitch tits and ‘roid gut. They’re part of the price you pay for juicing, dude.”

The instant the words had passed his lips, Álvaro regretted saying them because a look of pure horror crossed Justin’s face. He went pale as his gaze locked onto the growing pair of teats hanging down from his pecs and prominent stomach jutting out beneath them. Clearly, this was the first time he’d registered their presence and it was quite a rude awakening for the poor kid.

Desperately, Álvaro tried to back pedal. Hugging Justin to him, he soothed, “But you look amazing just as you are, babe! Really!”

The kid went stiff in his arms and Álvaro panicked. Was he going to start raging again? Would this trigger another violent episode? Fortunately, Justin went limp the next moment and sagged against him, sniffling loudly. Álvaro kissed his ear and started to rub his back. And froze when he felt the angry bumps and welts developing on Justin’s previously smooth skin. It only took him a moment to realize what they were.

Acne.

And a lot of it.

The boy’s back and shoulders were covered with acne!

The ‘roids! Álvaro thought dourly. The fucking ‘roids!

He diplomatically refrained from mentioning the acne as he guided Justin to a stool and helped him sit down. He busied himself pouring the boy’s protein shake and warming up a piece of the now cold frittata as Justin pulled himself together. 

Sliding the shake in front of him, he urged, “C’mon, baby! Drink up. It’ll make you feel better.”

Justin looked up at him forlornly before taking a tentative sip. He made a face before setting it aside and then surprised Álvaro by reaching over to take a bite of his frittata. This seemed to help because a slow smile spread across his face and he took another bite. Soon, he was gobbling it down as Álvaro cut off another slice and offered it to him.

“Yummy!” he exclaimed, a piece of red pepper hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Fuckin’ yummy!”

Álvaro laughed, glad that his boy had climbed out of the abyss of self pity and was finally enjoying some real food. He reached over and mussed the kid’s thick mop of hair, smiling like a proud father. Justin really was beautiful. So beautiful. And so loveable. He had to look away because his eyes grew misty when he realized how much he loved the boy. He couldn’t imagine life without him. Justin Reardon was everything he could want in a man…and he just kept getting more desirable. His fat cock throbbed between his legs and he reached down to jack himself under the table.

“Fuck those fuckin’ shakes, man! Just plain nasty!” Justin was saying in between big bites of frittata. “If I’m gonna get a gut from the ‘roids, I might as well enjoy it!”

“Now you’re talking,” Álvaro said, feeling his cock twitch in his hand. He especially loved muscle boys in the off-season when they grew soft and a bit flabby in their effort to pack on extra muscle. The papery skin, spidery veins, and striated muscles on the bodybuilders during competition season did nothing for him.

Watching the kid devour his food got him extremely horny. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer and took Justin by the waist and moved him on his lap where he guided his cock inside him again and thrust rhythmically while he ate. Justin shivered, settling his butt more firmly onto him, and gorged himself–both on frittata and papi’s cock! Occasionally, he’s stop rocking long enough to feed Álvaro bites of food as he fucked him, something that was a first for his papi. Álvaro shook his head, amazed at how many firsts he’d had with Justin already and they’d only been together for a little over a week. How many more firsts did the future hold? He couldn’t wait to find out.

God, he fucking loved his boy!

***

Part 4

Justin didn’t mention his growing ‘roid gut, bitch tits, or shrinking equipment again, although Álvaro caught the kid surveying his naked body critically in a mirror several times and could tell that he was bothered by these unwanted developments. For the most part, though, he seemed to forget about them, focusing instead on his workouts and building bigger muscles. Every day he grew bigger and bulkier and, within a couple of weeks, he’d put on enough mass that his muscles began to impede his movement. When he walked, his arms stuck out to the side due to his widening lats and his huge thighs caused him to sway to and fro in an increasingly ungainly fashion.  Álvaro noticed the floorboards of the condo shook slightly every time the kid took a step.

All of this was a huge turn on for Alvaro.

At work, Justin settled into a routine working the basement bar in a leather harness with a studded leather jockstrap that Alvaro had bought for him. The clients went crazy for the kid, encouraging his bulking up and lavishing him with tips. Justin lapped up the praise and spent much of the time on shift walking around in a daze, a huge grin on his handsome (if somewhat puffy) face. 

Fortunately for Alvaro, the other employees didn’t bring up his relationship with Justin. His radar was always on, trying to detect even a hint of disapproval but either his growing infatuation with the boy was deluding him or they really didn’t care; everyone just seemed to roll with it. After a couple of weeks, he relaxed a little, although he took pains not to favor the boy…overtly, at least. Inwardly, he was completely in love and he melted everytime Justin was around. It took all of his emotional maturity not to hang around the bar and bask in the sultry glow of his boy’s presence while he was at work. After work, of course, nothing could keep his hands of him.

One evening, he noticed something while massaging benzoyl peroxide onto Justin’s back. The big pup was leaning back into his hands, a deep, contented rumble echoing from his chest. The acne had improved with the peroxide treatments and his dark skin was less blotchy. His deltoids and trapezius muscles, though, felt strange to the touch.

“Hey, babe,” he began delicately, “what’s going on with your delts and traps? They feel weird…and they’re super big. Almost out of proportion.”

“Huh?” Justin asked sleepily. “Whaddaya mean?”

Alvaro reached up and grasped one of the boy’s mounded deltoids. It was almost the size of a fucking softball! “This,” he said, squeezing. “It’s a lot bigger than it was even a day ago. And your fucking traps are swallowing your neck!”

“Oh,” the boy said, giggling. “That’s synth.”

“Synth?” Alvaro repeated before he got it. “Ah, synthol. You’re injecting synthol now, too?”

“Uh huh. You like?”

Alvaro paused, uncertain how to respond. There was no doubt that his cock liked it; it was standing rigidly erect, pointing up at the ceiling. The bigger the kid got, the more potent his desire. If he could spent all day fucking the kid silly, he would do so with pleasure. On the other hand, synthol and steroids were dangerous chemicals and could cause lasting damage to the human body. He hated to think that his libido had such control over him that it rendered him mute when it came to looking after his boy’s health.

Taking a deep breath and forcing his attention away from his throbbing cock, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Justin’s neck, saying, “Baby, you know I fucking love how big and beefy you’re getting, right?”

Justin giggled again, an incongruous sound coming from such a huge brute. “Yeah, Papi! Yeah, I know.” He pushed himself backward, nestling his voluptuous butt against Alvaro’s crotch. “Sergio’s good to me. He sez he gonna do my ass next!”

Alvaro’s cock spasmed with this news. The thought of Justin’s ass becoming even bigger was almost too much for him to handle and he looked down to see a little jet of precum spurt out of his piss slit. With difficulty he managed to pull himself together enough to ask,. “Dr. Jiménez is–Ungh!–doing this to you? He’s injecting you with synthol?”

“Yeah, Papi!” Justin babbled happily. “He’s a real pro, too! He says I’ll be even bigger than his Papito after he’s done with me!”

This was too much. Alvaro was a good guy striving sincerely to look out for his boy but he was only human and the thought of Justin growing to such a gargantuan size… Well, his poor cock couldn’t handle it. Before he could stop himself, he’d flipped Justin over and started pounding his gaping hole so fiercely that the muscle boy bellowed in surprise…and delight. That night, he fucked Justin six times in rapid succession and woke up twice to go at him all over again.

***

Alvaro sought out Dr. Jiménez in the basement bar the next Friday evening after the muscle jocks had finished their weekly show. The doctor was sipping a cocktail and eying the muscle boys posing in thongs and jockstraps at the bar while he waited for Papito to emerge from the dressing room. The show had been especially well attended and Alvaro was quite pleased with the receipts. As a reward, he treated the performers to a free round of drinks and gave them each a generous bonus. At this rate, he thought happily, El Agujero would surpass the previous year’s gross sales by November. The guys in corporate would be pleased. Very pleased.

“Hey, Doc,” Alvaro began, trying hard to sound casual. “How’s it goin’?”

Dr. Jiménez looked up at him and smiled. He was an avuncular man in his early sixties with a snowy white beard and round, thick-rimmed glasses that made him look a bit like Sigmund Freud. “Ah, Alvaro. There you are!” he greeted, his voice pleasantly deep. “I was hoping you’d stop by and see me. You like your little Justí’s progress? He’s quite a catch, if I do say so.” 

As he spoke, he turned to gaze meaningfully over at the bar where Justin was prattling on in a singsong voice to a bunch of adoring young guys. Justin’s butt cheeks and pecs bulged alluringly out of his harness and jock and his distended nipples waggled provocatively with each subtle movement. Alvaro felt his heart swell with pride as he took in his boy’s delights (and something more carnal swelled in his trousers.) Only when he realized the doctor was waiting for his reply did he shake himself, his cheeks coloring under the man’s bemused stare.

He swallowed, trying to find words but his mouth was suddenly dry and he couldn’t make a sound come out. Finally, he gave up and gave the doctor an apologetic grin. Jiménez winked, patting the stool next to him and Alvaro obligingly settled down onto it. Still trying to master himself, he lifted a hand, beckoning one of the servers and, after opening and closing his mouth a few times, managed to ask Dr. Jiménez what he was having.

“Tequila reposada, neat,” came the reply and Alvaro ordered one for himself as well. They sat in companionable silence while the server fetched their drinks and then clinked glasses, toasting each other–and their boys–each man with a wry smile on his face.

“I think I can allay your fears, Alvaro,” Dr. Jiménez murmured as his gaze wandered back to land lingeringly on Justin. “I am taking the utmost care with your boy’s treatments. He approached me a few weeks ago about…helping…him and I was initially suspicious but have since become convinced that he is sincere in his desire to surpass my Papito.” He paused to raise a knowing eyebrow before finishing, “And I intend to make sure he does. Do I have your permission?”

Alvaro’s cock had grown steadily harder with each of the doctor’s words. By the end, he was sporting a raging boner and had to shift on his stool to make room for it in his pants. He was keenly aware of the doctor’s eyes on him as heat crept up his neck and he had to clear his throat several times before he could croak, “Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, yes! Yes, you do.”

The doctor leaned back and, crossing his arms, gave Alvaro an appraising look before saying, “You are one lucky man, Alvaro. You will not believe the things I will do to your boy. Take a good look at him now because you will not recognize him in another month.”

***

“I hate it!” Justin complained, his lower lip sticking out.

“Well, I fucking like it,” Alvaro said, reaching to take Justin’s hands before the kid could remove the skimpy thong. “This is what your clients are demanding, Justin. You have to go with it.”

Justin looked down at himself unhappily. “But it makes me look pequeno!” he wailed, staring at his shrunken package. Over the past few weeks, the ‘roids had continued to wreak havoc on his manhood. The poor kid was even having trouble getting hard now, his flaccid cock looking like the desiccated carcass of a plucked baby bird that had expired between his legs. “I use ta be big!” he whimpered. “I use ta be real big!”

“Shhh,” Alvaro soothed, taking his boy in his arms with difficulty (the kid was so wide!) and squeezing him. “You look amazing, Justin! Who cares about your dick when you got a body like that?”

He stepped back and surveyed his boy like he was a prize heifer at a livestock show. Justin’s muscles were stupendously huge, so big and heavy that the kid was having trouble walking and had to sit down often to catch his breath. With the help of the synthol and the steroid injections, his back muscles had widened into wings. His arms bulged out from his sides and his quads all but swallowed his legs. Best of all, his massive ass–pumped full to bursting with synthol–exploded behind him in a luscious balloon that defied all efforts to contain it. The only clothes that fit him now had to be custom made but Alvaro (and every other guy at the club, it seemed) preferred him to wear as little as possible. 

In only two months under Dr. Jiménez’s supervision, Justin had grown to be the envy of everyone at El Agujero. Fans came from all over the city to see him, making the club the place to be. It didn’t seem to matter that Justin was having trouble remembering drink orders and often walked around half addled while on shift; the guys were there for two simple reasons: To see their new, favorite ‘roid bull swaggering around and to cheer him on as he grew bigger with each passing day.

Justin stood before him all but naked, his shaved, tanned, muscle-bloated body slicked with oil and shining in the dim light of the dressing room. His gold lamé thong would have been tiny on a normal-sized man but on him it was ludicrously small. As Alvaro surveyed his boy critically, he did have to admit that the thong was somewhat distracting, drawing the eye to Justin’s miniscule endowment rather than obscuring it.

He was about to comment when he heard movement behind him and turned to see Dr. Jiménez enter the room with Papito lurching precariously behind him. He had to do a double take when he saw Papito and realized he now looked small compared to Justin. And he used to think Papito was a muscle beast! Shit, he was nothing compared to Justin!  In one key way, though, he noticed that Dr. Jiménez’s boy still outdid Justin: His stupendously enlarged package strained against the pouch of his red thong like it was stuffed full of a litter of kittens. Alvaro’s cock twitched at the sight of it.

“Alvaro,” Dr. Jiménez was saying as he reached out to grasp his hand firmly. “How is your boy doing? He seems upset.”

Alvaro smiled tightly and shook the doctor’s hand. Jerking his head toward the back of the room, he turned to Justin, instructing, “Wait here with Papito, Ok? Dr. Jiménez and I need to talk.”

Justin acted like he was going to object but then stopped, seemingly confused. It was as if he had already forgotten what Alvaro had just said. When his vacant gaze landed on Papito, though, he called out happily, “Oye, Papito! Que tal, ‘migo?”

Alvaro smiled as the two muscle bulls giggled and commenced prattling like a couple of giddy little boys. He guided Dr. Jiménez by the elbow to the back where he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, saying, “I’m glad you’re here, Doc. I was just thinking about Justin and…”

“And you think it’s time that we started with the silicone?” the doctor finished for him, nodding excitedly. “Bien, bien! That was my thought as well. I came here to ask if I could schedule his surgery.”

Alvaro stared at the man, confused by this sudden announcement. He had only intended to ask if there was anything they could do about Justin’s withering cock and balls. He hadn’t been thinking about silicone. And surgery? Whoa, this was too much, too soon! 

He held up his hands in protest but the doctor forestalled his objections, insisting, “Yes, yes, Alvaro! Think of the possibilities! Justin is ripe for major enhancement. Since working on Papito, I’ve perfected my art and can easily surpass even his endowment. What would you say if I told you that I could make Justin’s equipment at least twice as big as Papito’s? And his ass…” He paused to rub his hands together.

The mere mention of making Justin’s ass bigger was enough derail even Alvaro’s most strenuous objections and he had to reach out and grab the wall to keep from falling over. He looked over at his boy, mind reeling as he imagined Justin’s buttocks growing even mightier.

“…and I will take the opportunity to fix his nose and ears while he’s under. The HGH has really caused them to get out of hand,” the doctor was saying as Alvaro reached down surreptitiously to massage his crotch.

The mention of HGH broke through Alvaro’s lascivious fog and he dropped his hand away from his hardening cock to fix the doctor with an intent stare. “HGH?” he demanded. “You mean human growth hormone? You have him on human growth hormone?”

The corner of Dr. Jiménez’s mouth lifted. “Of course, I do! My dear man, how did you think I’ve been able to get him to grow so big so quickly?”

“I guess I…”

“Precisely! HGH is an exceptional treatment but comes with a major side effect: It accelerates the growth of cartilage. Just look at the poor boy! He looks like a clown!”

Alvaro’s head swiveled back to Justin and he studied the boy’s face. He’d been so preoccupied with admiring Justin’s huge muscles that he hadn’t paid much attention to the kid’s looks but now that the doctor mentioned it, he had to admit that Justin’s nose and ears were bigger. A lot bigger. In fact, they were looking almost comical.

He grimaced, turning back to the doctor as he sighed, “Oof, you’re right. He does look kinda weird.”

“Don’t you worry, Alvaro,” Dr. Jiménez said, nodding sympathetically. “By the time I’m done with him, people will swear that he’s your trueborn son…your very, very, very overgrown son.”

He laughed and Alvaro winced, his cock spasming painfully at the thought. He was so overcome by lust at the doctor’s words that he almost forgot to ask about the money. At the last moment, though, he remembered. “Uh, hey, Doc,” he began delicately. “This is all great but how the fuck am I supposed to pay for all of this? Surgery isn’t cheap.”

Dr. Jiménez held up his hand, stopping him. “Justin has already paid me.”

“How? The kid’s always telling me he’s broke?”

“He is…now,” the doctor said cryptically before explaining, “when he first came to me, he transferred the contents of his bank accounts into my own. I believe he gave me enough money to ensure that I will take care of his every…need…for the rest of his life.”

Alvaro swallowed, pulse suddenly pounding in his ears. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he said the fateful words, “Ok, Doc. You got my permission. Schedule his surgery. The sooner the better. And do your worst. When I see the boy next time, I want him to be a total fucking muscle freak.”

***

Part 5

Alvaro’s heart clenched as he looked down at his boy Justin, lying splayed across two hospital beds with only a flimsy sheet draped over his vastly enhanced bulk. Bandages covered his face so that only his beautiful, brown eyes could be seen staring fixedly at Alvaro’s face. If anything, the sheet exaggerated the ridiculously inflated contours of his new body and Alvaro had to grip the bed railing to steady himself as he took in the sheer magnitude of Justin’s size. It was dizzying. Those…giant mounds of flesh…Shit! He almost couldn’t believe they were real.

“Mi mucho estupido!” the boy whimpered, struggling to lift an insanely bloated arm. “Mi mucho estupido!”

“Shhhh, baby,” Alvaro murmured, reaching down to stay his hand. “Just rest. The surgery was a success! You’re such a good boy. I’m so proud of my baby!”

But Justin was inconsolable. He continued to whine pitifully, “Mi mucho estupido! Mi mucho estupido!” until a nurse arrived to administer a sedative. The boy resisted swallowing the pills but Alvaro finally managed to coax them down his throat and he settled back in the bed, lying his melon-sized head down on the pillow.

Alvaro waited until he had closed his eyes and his labored breathing began to even out before reaching out to lift the sheet to study the doctor’s handiwork. His cock was already hard with expectation…

“Tut, tut!” Dr. Jiménez scolded behind him. “No peeking!”

Alvaro straightened abruptly, cheeks coloring. “I, uh, was just–”

“You were just getting ahead of yourself, Alvaro,” the doctor finished for him, giving him a friendly smile. He was still dressed in his surgical gown, his face mask hanging around his neck. Giving Alvaro a wry look, he continued, “Your boy will be ready for his, ahem, big unveiling soon enough. I know you will be pleased and so will he. It’s crazy, I pumped him full of so much silicone that I took the precaution of enhancing his joints with titanium while he was in surgery. The boy has more of the stuff inside him than the entire Miss Universe cotillion!”

Alvaro’s eye widened with this news and he sputtered, “Wow, Doc! Dios mio! That’s–”

“I know, I know!” Dr. Jiménez murmured excitedly, rubbing his hands together. “He represents my best work to date. Between his reinforced joints and the secondary, assistive heart I implanted, he should live a relatively normal lifespan. He’ll be a giant freak, of course, but that’s what we love about him, no?”

Unable to do anything but nod, Alvaro’s brain struggled to assimilate the doctor’s words. He stared down at the giant mounds of his sleeping boy. He couldn’t help reaching out again to draw back the sheet. He wanted to see what Justin looked like under there!

Before his fingers touched the sheet, though, Dr. Jiménez placed a warm but firm hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the room, saying, “The patient needs to rest and recover, my friend. In the meantime, we are ready for you in the operating room.”

Alvaro stopped dead in his tracks. “What?” he demanded. “I don’t need to–”

“Shhh, my friend,” Dr. Jiménez. “I am only trying to help. Did you ever think about, er, the…mechanics…of lovemaking now that your boy has grown so big? Especially…um, well, how shall I say this?” He paused and gazed meaningfully down at Alvaro’s crotch before lifting his bespectacled gaze back to his face. “Especially when you consider that his anus is now buried so deeply inside those massive gluteals?”

“Well, I, er, I mean–”

Before he could finish, the doctor interrupted him with another of his disconcertingly direct questions. “How long is your penis when erect, Alvaro?”

Alvaro blinked at him, uncertain how to respond. He was opening his mouth when the doctor tightened his grip on Alvaro’s arm and steered him down the hall. Before Alvaro knew what was happening, his clothes were being removed and he was forced onto a gurney. A mask appeared over his head and he gasped, inhaling noxious vapors. His vision clouded and he lost consciousness.

***

He awoke, feeling groggy and half delusional, to the sound of Dr. Jiménez’s voice. “You did well, my friend! Very well! The transplant was a success!”

Alvaro tried to speak but could only moan, “Aaaaaaaaaaargh.”

He looked around and realized he was lying in bed. In a hospital bed. Various machines whirred and chirped next to him and an IV was attached to his arm. Confused, he tried to prop himself up on his elbows as he struggled to remember what had happened. He couldn’t remember anything beyond coming to the hospital to be with Justin. 

But Justin had surgery, not him. 

Right?

And if Justin was the one who had surgery, why was he lying in a hospital bed?

He shook his head, belatedly becoming aware of a throbbing pain in his crotch. He winced and was beginning to move his hand downward when the doctor stopped him.

“Hold on, my friend,” Jiménez soothed. “Let it heal. I just administered a morphine drip to help with the pain.”

Alvaro stared up at him in confusion. He tried to speak but his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. Swallowing with difficulty, he managed to croak, “Wha…dith…you…doooo…?”

For some reason, his question seemed to amuse Dr. Jiménez and he laughed loudly. “Why, I helped you, my friend! You now have everything you need to mount your prize muscle bull.”

Alvaro groaned, increasingly alarmed by the pain radiating from his nether regions. He shifted in the bed and felt something heavy flop against his thigh. What the fuck! he thought, as panic overwhelmed him. What the fuck was that?! He wailed in alarm, trying to push the sheet off. He was intent on getting out of bed, getting out of the hospital, getting as far away from there as possible…

Before he could move, the doctor leaned over the bed and held him down, whispering, “There, there, Alvaro. Just be still and relax. You’ll heal in no time!”

Alvaro watched with wide eyes as a nurse approached holding a syringe. At a nod from the doctor, she injected it into his arm and Alvaro whimpered pitifully. Squeezing his arm, Jiménez coaxed, “Why don’t you sleep? I will explain everything once you are awake and in a better frame of mind.”

***

Two weeks later at El Agujero…

>>Hey, Boss!<< Juan Obregón, the newly-promoted club supervisor, called out over Alvaro’s intercom. >>We need you down here at the mainstage. Some guys are hassling the performers.<<

Alvaro sighed. There was always something these days. The club’s popularity had soared after Justin’s triumphant, post-surgery return but the rampant success came with a downside: Haters. With El Agujero’s growing notoriety came a certain amount of unwanted attention, usually in the form of hecklers. Alvaro had been forced to hire more security personnel and had installed metal detectors at the front doors. Construction crews were due in next week to put cement barricades around the entrance as a further precaution. This was the sad, new reality for popular gay clubs in the gun-obsessed United States after the horrific massacre at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando back in 2016.

Pushing up from his chair, Alvaro growled, “I’m on my way, Juan. Can you call Izzy and have him meet me there?”

>>Sure thing, Boss!<< came Juan’s chipper reply.

There was a click and the intercom went silent. Unconsciously adjusting his massive junk in the custom made crotch of his pants, Alvaro sidled out of the room. His gait had changed noticeably since his own surgery and he now walked with a distinctly bowlegged swagger.

***

When Alvaro entered the auditorium, the evening’s performance was reaching its exciting denouement. Or at least it would have been exciting if it hadn’t been for the rowdy drunks harassing the actors.

The troublemakers were at a center table near the mainstage. Alvaro’s eyes narrowed when he recognized them: They were the same bunch of young suits from the club’s corporate offices that he’d shown around before the show. Earlier that evening, he’d greeted them personally after receiving the heads up from Sheila in HR. In her text, she informed him that some of the top brass were on the way to inspect the club. He’d frowned down at his phone as he’d read the message and then smirked when he saw she’d added the warning >>BE NICE, ALVARO!<< followed by a smiley face emoji. According to her, the massive increase in El Agujero’s profits had garnered the interest of the CEO and he was sending his best managers to ‘take notes’ on its secrets.

This is the price I pay for success! Alvaro grumbled to himself as he approached the table of drunks. Haters and entitled white boys from corporate! 

When the managers had arrived at El Agujero just before the show began, they had been the model of corporate chic, dressed impeccably in tailored suits, their hair coiffed in the trendiest styles and their nails shiny and manicured. Predictably, they were also quite handsome–and white–each insisting that Alvaro refer to him as ‘Mr. So-and-So’ and each with a surname reeking of a monied pedigree. Alvaro wondered for the thousandth time when the parent company would hire managers who reflected the diversity of its holdings. 

As he’d reached out to shake hands with the men, he had been reminded of his first meeting with Justin but the memory was so faint that it barely registered and he’d shaken his head, managing at the last second to turn his sneer into a polite smile. The young managers had feigned interest during a brief tour before the show with only a couple of them pausing to discreetly ogle the huge bulge in his trousers. (He hadn’t been able to resist standing with his hips thrust forward to provocatively display his enormous new package.)

After having a few drinks, though, young bucks’ polished veneer had worn thin, exposing something more lurid and predatory beneath. They were now more akin to ugly frat boys than dapper gentlemen, Alvaro realized with a scowl. Nearing their table, he took in the guys’ devolved state with a gimlet eye. Their ties were loosened and askew on their necks and their jackets lay in crumpled piles at their feet as they taunted the performers on stage. The surrounding audience members were trying to silence them with boos and hisses but the young men ignored them, focusing the worst of their abuse on poor Justin.

“FREEEEEEEEEK!” one of the guys yelled while his friends grunted at Justin like gorillas.

Confused by the taunts, the hugely-inflated muscle beast teetered to and fro on stage as he struggled to remember his single-word lines in the dramatic denouement of the play. He was wearing only a camouflage-colored jockstrap that strained to contain his humongous, silicone-filled cock and balls. Even though it had been custom-made to accommodate his obscene junk, the mesh pouch looked like it was going to burst at any second. The reinforced waistband of the jock accentuated the ballooning globes of his ass, so enlarged by silicone that they were bigger than beach balls. They jutted out behind him, swaying and jiggling in a salacious manner that momentarily distracted Alvaro. Jesus fucking Christ! he thought with startled pride as if he were just seeing Justin’s booty for the first time. My boy’s got a phat ass!

And then there were those amazing muscle teats. 

Shit! Dr. Jiménez hadn’t lied when he’d bragged about making Justin into a work of art. The boy’s pecs rivaled his backside and, in combination with his monster-sized package, were the perfect, drool-worthy counterweight to his bubbly ass. Alvaro was rendered momentarily stupefied every time he saw what Dr. Jiménez had done to his boy. Only with great effort did he force his attention away from his ass, package, and teats long enough to assess the situation.

Justin and the rest of the muscular actors were in the midst of the final scene of that evening’s dramatic production. The show was a club favorite in which Justin played the starring role, a Mexican refugee seeking asylum in the United States. Thrown into a detention center and abused by corrupt Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents (played by a troupe of Chippendale strippers in black thongs and jackboots), his character eventually incited the other refugees into a rebellion that ended with the simulated gang rape of the guards. In the finale, someone threw a fake Molotov cocktail and the prison burst into mock flames. 

The scene was supposed to culminate with a daring rescue from the flaming detentions center in which a sympathetic border patrol officer (played by Papito) airlifted Justin to safety in a helicopter dangling from a crane off stage. The hecklers, however, had thrown the entire production into disarray and Papito was dangling haplessly from the helicopter while the other actors milled about on stage, wilting under drunken men’s abuse.

“Alright, boys,” Alvaro called out, approaching the table. “You’ve had your fun and now it’s time to go.”

The drunk young men paused long enough to leer up at him. He could almost see the little cogs turning in their besotted brains when they registered the fact that he was all alone. They might be drunk but they weren’t stupid; there were four of them and only one of him: The math was in their favor. Alvaro grimaced and looked behind him, hoping to see Izzy coming down the aisle but the big bouncer was nowhere to be seen. As he turned back, a beer bottle went whizzing past his ear. One of the young guys flipped him off and another slurred, “Go futh yurselth, Wet Backth!”

Until that moment, Alvaro had been doing a good job of staying calm but the racist insult hit a nerve. Seeing red, he would have pummeled the rich asshole to within an inch of his pathetic, privileged life if a cool hand on his shoulder hadn’t stopped him.

“Easy, Mr. Diaz,” a deep voice tinged with a Russian accent soothed in his ear. “I’ll handle this.”

Alvaro turned in surprise to find Alexei Bortnikov standing next to him, a reassuring expression on his handsome face. Like the young men, he wore an elegant suit but, unlike them, his clothing style was circa 1950 rather than contemporary fashion. On Alexei, though, this retro fashion worked and worked well. His muscular frame bulged under the fine fabric as he regarded the young toughs with disdain. (God, that man is fucking gorgeous! Alvaro caught himself thinking in spite of the rage burning through his veins.) A moment later, Alexei’s boyfriend, the incredibly hot, young cop named Pete Lopez, appeared at his shoulder, his muscular arms crossed and his eyes flashing with menace. Even Alvaro would think twice before going up against Pete Lopez.

“Gentlemen,” Alexei pronounced in a quiet voice. “I believe Mr. Diaz gave you an order. You really ought to be going now.”

And just like that, the tide turned.

Even though they were still outnumbered, something about Alexei’s presence had an instant, cowing effect on the men and they shrank back as he stared them down. Alvaro looked from Alexei to the men and back again, wondering, How does he do it?

As he was pondering this question, Izzy and a trio of other bouncers arrived and commenced herding the guys out of the room. They were beginning to comply when one of them, a pretty blond-haired man with piercing blue eyes who seemed to be the least drunk of the crowd, drew himself up to his full height and barked, “Call your thugs off, Diaz! We refuse to be treated like chattel!”

Before Alvaro could reply, Alexei answered for him. “‘Chattel’, Mr. Weatherby?” he queried in an amused tone. “That’s an interesting word choice. I wonder if you know what it is truly like to be treated like chattel.”

The young man stopped in surprise, turning to Alexei and demanding, “Wait! How do you know my name? And who the fuck are you anyway?”

Alexei regarded him with a slight smile before replying, “Who I am is not important. What is important is that I am a man who respects authority and power. Tell me, Mr. Weatherby, do you respect authority and power?”

The young Mr. Weatherby seemed taken aback by the question and a hush fell over the room as he contemplated his retort. One thing was clear, however: Alexei’s appearance and knowledge of his name may have surprised him but he was unbowed by the debonair Russian, his big boyfriend, or the hulking bouncers. If anything, he seemed to relish standing up to them.

A cocky little bastard, Alvaro thought as he assessed the young man, but a damned pretty one! 

It was true. Mr. Weatherby stood out from his friends in several ways, not the least because of his magnetic good looks. (He possessed fine, strong features and sparkling eyes.) But it was more than just his looks. Something about his hauteur reminded Alvaro of his first meeting with Justin so many weeks past.

As the tension grew between Alexei and Mr. Weatherby, the audience and the muscle boys on stage fell silent. It was so quiet that Alvaro could hear Justin’s labored breathing as well as the adorable whimper he always made when he was distraught. He looked up to the stage and gave his boy a reassuring nod. Justin was too worked up, though, to be placated with a simple gesture and he lurched precariously down the steps, nearly bowling Alvaro over as he threw himself into his papi’s arms.

“Hush, Justin,” Alvaro soothed quietly. “You’re a big boy. You’re the big, tough Justin Reardon! Justin Reardon isn’t afraid of anything!”

Justin took a shuddering breath and buried his face in Alvaro’s shoulder. Alvaro was about to murmur more words of encouragement when Mr. Weatherby cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry,” the young man demanded. “Did you just call him ‘Justin Reardon’?”

Alvaro looked over at him, answering coldly, “I did. That’s his name.”

The man did a double take. It was almost humorous watching his expression change as he registered Justin’s identity. His cold arrogance shifted first to disbelief and then to shock, the shock finally transforming into horror as he backed away. His friends, too blitzed by that point to comprehend what was going on, watched him dumbly, their mouths hanging open. One of them belched loudly, causing his compatriots to snicker.

“What the matter, Mr. Weatherby? Don’t you recognize your friend?” Alexei pressed, ignoring the antics of the young man’s friends as he turned to face him. “You and Justin go all the way back to prep school, if I’m right. Further than that, actually. I believe your fathers were fraternity brothers and your families own bordering summer estates in the Hamptons.”

Mr. Weatherby didn’t answer. His face had turned deathly pale as he opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out. Finally, he sank back onto the table behind him and held his face in his hands. When he looked up again, his gaze was haunted. The entire auditorium was so quiet that even the people in the back row were able to hear him whisper.

“Justin,” he began in a trembling voice, unable to look at the muscle beast for long before turning away. “Is-Is-Is that really you? W-W-What happened t-t-to you?”

Justin lifted his huge, round head to stare blearily at Mr. Weatherby. His eyes were red from crying and his lower lip was trembling. He recognized his name but didn’t seem to recognize the man saying it.

Before he could reply, Alexei interjected, “I’m afraid that, in his current state, your pal Justin doesn’t know you but I will fix that.” He paused to turn toward Justin. Lifting his hand in the air, he ordered, “Watch my fingers, Justin.” Gaping, the boy lifted his bovine gaze to the Russian’s hand. His expression was completely vacant. Alexei nodded, praising, “There! That’s a good boy! You will remember everything in a moment.” With that, he put his thumb and middle finger together and snapped. The crisp sound echoed through the hall, seeming to reverberate against the walls. The crowd and actors on the stage leaned forward. They didn’t understand what was happening exactly but it was clear that something significant was about to transpire.

The snap had a strange effect on Justin. He went limp in Alvaro’s arms before stiffening and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, something had shifted in his gaze. It was subtle but his eyes lost their empty softness and became hard, sharp, and…oddly familiar. Alvaro blinked, feeling the skin on the back of his neck prickle. What had Alexei just done…? He looked over to the Russian, a question on his lips.

Before he could say anything, though, Justin spoke, his voice changing mid sentence from its usual befuddled bellow to a rapid, staccato tone, a tone that Alvaro recalled well as it was the way Justin had talked when they’d first met. He shook his head, amazed at how quickly he’d grown accustomed to the boy’s dull monotone. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Justin shouted at Alvaro. “Get the fuck away from me!” With that, he pushed his papi violently away, losing his balance in the process. He windmilled his enormously enhanced arms and would have toppled if Alvaro hadn’t reached out to steady him. Justin started to shove him away again but in doing so caught sight of himself. He froze as he looked down, taking in as if for the first time the enormity of his vastly changed and bloated body.

Justin’s face went white as he stood there, gaping down at his body. Alvaro was slow to catch on but he gradually began to piece things together. From the muffled sounds of the audience behind him, he guessed that they, too, were beginning to understand. Later, he learned that many believed the drunken abuse and confrontation were staged as part of the production and that Alexei’s breaking of Justin’s hypnotic trance had been planned ahead of time. It was a fiction he chose not to dispel because it served as the perfect introduction to a new show: The hypnotic humiliation of unsuspecting audience members at the hands of actors trained by Alexei Bortnikov. Within a month, it had eclipsed even Papito and Justin’s jailbreak performance popularity.

At the time, though, he was too astounded to do much beyond stand there and watch in perplexity as Justin reacted to the sight of his body. As impossible as it was to comprehend at the time, it really was as if Alexei had awoken him from a trance and he was registering his crazily altered appearance for the first time. As the muscle boy’s outrage slowly mutated into horror before their eyes, he lifted his giant paws to his melon head and a low keening emanated from his mouth that gradually built in intensity.

Stupefied by what he was witnessing, Alvaro turned to Alexei asking, “Wha–, I mean, what did you do to him?”

Alexei’s eyebrows drew upward as he placed a hand on Alvaro’s arm. Before he could reply, though, Mr. Weatherby began shouting.

“You did this to him! You turned him into a fucking–” he stopped, wild-eyed with panic as he stared at Justin. When he spoke again, his voice was frantic. “You made him into a fucking sideshow freak! You’re monsters! MONSTERS!” Grabbing his drunken buddies by the arm, he pushed them toward the exit, shouting, “You will pay for this, Diaz! You will pay! I’m going to close this place down and have you thrown in prison!” He lifted his fist in the air as he added, “You haven’t seen the last of me! I’ll be back with the police!”

The crowd erupted in a chorus of boos as this threat and Alexei’s boyfriend, the sexy Officer Lopez shook his head while the Russian murmured, “Oh, you’ll be back, Mr. Weatherby, but it won’t be with the police.”

Either the young man didn’t hear him or chose to ignore the comment because he turned his attention instead toward rousting his companions out of their seats. His friends were so soused that it took awhile to get them moving. After a lot of yelling and manhandling, though, Mr. Weatherby succeeded in getting them to stumble up the central aisle. The audience burst into thunderous applause when the doors finally swung closed behind them. Soon, the crowd had taken to its feet to deliver a standing ovation. 

Alvaro stood there gaping until Alexei clapped him on the shoulder and urged him to take a bow. “Just go with it, my friend. Just go with it.”

He did. 

Bowing deeply, he soaked in the adulation even though he had no idea what exactly had happened. After the cheering died down and the crowd the was filtering out of the auditorium, he turned to Alexei, intent on getting some answers.

The Russian only smiled and waved off his questions, though. “All will become clear soon enough, Mr. Diaz. Right now, you should go comfort your boy Justin. He has a lot to come to terms with.”

Alvaro stared blankly at him until Alexei nodded significantly toward the side door. Alvaro looked over to see Justin teetering awkwardly away, bawling like a wounded bull. He was far too big and heavy to move quickly but clearly he was attempting to flee. It was as if he believed that by departing the building, his body would somehow be magically restored to the way it had been before his stupendous transformation. Alvaro’s heart twisted in his chest at the sight and he was about to start after him when he was struck by a sudden worry.

Looking back at Alexei, he asked, “What about Mr. Weatherby?”

The Russian smiled coyly. “What about him?”

“If he tells the CEO what he witnessed here, the company could pull the plug on the club!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Mr. Weatherby or his friends,” Alexei replied cryptically. Before Alvaro could question him further, though, he placed his arm over his boyfriend’s shoulder and they walked out of the room. Izzy and the other bouncers watched them go, shaking their heads, and Alvaro turned to pursue Justin.

***

Justin didn’t waddle far.

He couldn’t. Even with titanium-enhanced joints and a secondary, assistive heart implant, he couldn’t stagger more than a hundred feet without tiring out. Alvaro found him sagging against the wall in the deserted green room, chest heaving from exertion. He was sobbing.

Alvaro stopped, watching his boy with concern as he contemplated his next move. He was slowly piecing together the mysterious events of moments ago on the club floor, remembering more clearly his first meeting with Justin and how much he’d despised the kid. Justin had been an arrogant, rich prick who savored his ability to needle Alvaro.

He’d also been white.

And blond-haired and blue-eyed.

Just like Mr Weatherby.

Shit! The two guys had looked so much alike they could have been brothers.

But not anymore!

No, not anymore.

Justin had changed.

In fact, now that Alvaro thought about it, the boy had begun changing almost immediately after his first appearance at El Agujero two months ago. 

Yes, Justin had started changing even before Dr. Jiménez got his hands (and scalpel) on him. Alvaro wondered why he hadn’t questioned it when Justin showed up in his office with brown hair and brown eyes, explaining blithely that he’d always looked that way. Or when his skin developed far more pigment than even a very tanned white boy should have. 

And what about Justin’s sudden obsession with bulking up?

As he pondered, Alvaro remembered how Justin had been visibly repulsed the first time he met Papito and the other muscle boys in the hallway before their performance. But then he’d done an abrupt about face, appearing at Alvaro’s doorstep the very next morning, begging to go to the gym. Begging to be introduced to those very same performers and following them around the gym worshipfully until he scored his first dose of steroids.

Alvaro hung his head, ashamed with himself for playing along. For more than playing along! Shit, he’d aided and abetted Justin every step of the way, only protesting weakly each time the boy took his muscle obsession to the next level.

Why hadn’t he done more to question the boy or to talk him out of his crazy plans to bulk up? He shook his head. The truth was that he’d chosen either not to notice or not to worry because he’d liked the way his boy was changing. Alvaro had always had a thing for Latino muscle boys (especially artificially enhanced ones like Papito) and he couldn’t resist when Justin decided to start juicing and injecting and augmenting.

Yes, Alvaro was as much to blame as Alexei apparently was.

Alexei.

Alvaro remembered then that the Russian had appeared at the club that first evening right after he and Justin had argued. He’d said that he had a package for Justin and Alvaro had assumed that the man worked for corporate but now he knew better.

Now it was clear that Alexei had done something to Justin.

Hypnotized him?

Given him some sort of drug?

Implanted something inside him?

Yes, that was it!

The Russian was the key to Justin’s transformation.

Alexei Bortnikov must have engineered Justin’s changes from the beginning.

But why?

***

“Hey, baby, don’t be sad,” Alvaro whispered as he came up behind Justin and cupped his gigantic ass cheeks in his hands, rolling them around. He expected the boy to pull away or at least tense but was reassured when he relaxed into his grip. He lay his cheek against his boy’s burgeoning shoulder, soothing, “Everything is gonna be Ok. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Justin took a deep, shuddering breath before wailing, “W-W-What did you do to me? A-A-And why?”

His voice was the old Justin’s voice, still crisp and sharp but also adorably vulnerable. Alvaro had almost forgotten how he used to sound and realized he’d missed having adult conversations with the boy. The new Justin had trouble piecing together more than two or three words.

He nuzzled the boy’s ear, kissing it tenderly and murmuring, “I didn’t do anything to you, Justin. You did it all yourself but I admit that I didn’t try very hard to talk you out of anything.”

Justin was quiet for a long time. Slowly, Alvaro became aware that his whole, mountainous body was shaking. Shaking with the effort of trying to fight back tears. Finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer and let loose, crying like a little baby. Alvaro let him wail for a while but when it became clear that the kid was indulging in melodrama, he rolled his eyes and took action. Raising his hand in the air, he spanked Justin hard across his bare buttocks. 

>>SMACK!!!<< 

The slap reverberated through the room, satisfyingly loud given the enormity of the boy’s huge booty. Justin jumped and spun around–a surprising feat for one so bulky–outrage etched across his bulbous features, cheeks still glistening with tears.

“How fucking dare you!” he shouted. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Your Papi,” Alvaro answered proudly. “Now get the fuck down on your knees, Freak!”

“I will do no such–”

>>RIP!<<

Justin’s severely bloated cock and balls tumbled ignominiously down to the floor as Alvaro lifted the rent pieces of his camo jockstrap into the air, waving them about like a prize. The boy froze and his face contorted in horror as his eyes fell down to behold his ballooned-out member, so overfilled with silicone it scarcely resembled anything more than a huge, misshapen blob. 

Alvaro smirked, savoring his boy’s reaction. Very deliberately, he dropped the shreds of the jockstrap. They fluttered down to the floor as he lowered his hands down to his belt. In a low voice he repeated, “Get the fuck down on your knees, Freak. Now!”

His words had the desired effect of penetrating Justin’s shock and the boy lifted his head, noticing for the first time the incredibly large tumescence pressing luridly against Alvaro’s pant leg. His mouth fell open as Alvaro released the buckle on his belt. Taking his sweet time, he inched his trousers down his broad thighs, exposing the dense, black thicket of his pubes. He kept his eyes locked on Justin’s face and smiled evilly when the base of the gargantuan beast lurking in his pants was slowly revealed.

“Holy fucking shit!” Justin breathed. “That’s a—”

“Horse cock,” Alvaro finished for him. “From the biggest, hungest stud stallion around!”

Lovingly, he lifted his miraculous member out of his pants, pausing to retract its oily sheath and expose the glistening, mottled black shaft. It was more than three feet long and fatter than his arm. Fragrant, yellow spew dripped from its flattened head, landing with audible splats on the floor at his feet.

His horse cock was hefty but Dr. Jiménez had done his work well and had rerouted a whole system of Alvaro’s veins and arteries to support its inflation when he became aroused. Gradually, the herculean monster reared its ugly head, eventually jutting out hard and fiercely erect from his hips.

Justin stared at it in amazement, his mouth opening and closing as Alvaro jerked his chin downward. Obediently, Justin sank to his knees, staring meekly up at his papi’s giant cock as a thick rope of pre drooled from it down onto his chin. His tongue had darted out to lap it up before he could stop himself.

“Ok, Freak,” Alvaro commanded. “I want you to repeat after me, Ok?”

Justin nodded mutely.

“‘Mi mucho estupido.’”

Justin blinked and started to shake his head but Alvaro stopped him by slapping him hard across the cheek with his fat cock.

“Say it, Freak,” he warned, “Say it!”

Justin stared up mutinously at him, his eyes on fire with resentment at being ordered around like a lowlife but after only the briefest of pauses he repeated, “Mi mucho estupido.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Louder!”

“Mi mucho estupido.” This time he said it more forcefully.

“LOUDER!” Alvaro bellowed.

“Mi mucho estupido!”

“LOUDER, FREAK!”

Justin grimaced, his eyes full of self-loathing as he raised his head and shouted, “MI MUCHO ESTUPIDO! MI MUCHO ESTUPIDO!”

“That’s better,” Alvaro praised as he forcefully spun his boy around. “Now stick your ass up in the air and spread your legs for me, you big, dumb slut!”

Justin complied, shifting onto all fours and thrusting his massive globes up and out like a shameless hussy. Slowly, he lowered his face to the floor as he reached back and parted his cavernous cheeks, exposing his buried but well-used hole for his papi’s pleasure.

Alvaro grunted with delight as the sight of the boy prostrating himself before him, savoring his degradation even more now that he knew it was the old Justin–the arrogant, entitled rich brat–who was submitting himself to be used like a mindless fuck toy. A mindless, musclebound fuck toy.

Justin Reardon was his whore. His man pussy. His cum dump.

Justin Reardon was his to use and destroy.

Ha! he thought with sinister satisfaction. He has already been destroyed. He just know it now.

 It was true.

Justin Reardon was no more.

Alvaro fucked his boy relentlessly, burying his mutant shaft deep inside him until he begged for mercy.

And then he fucked him even harder.

It was a long night for poor Justin.

***

Epilogue

“Cheers, Alvaro!” Alexei said, raising his martini glass in a toast as Dr. Jiménez followed suit. “To your newfound success!”

Alvaro flushed, looking down at the table. The three men were seated in the basement bar at El Agujero, enjoying a drink after another successful show. Alexei’s idea of making hypnosis a regular part of the club’s weekend lineup had been a stroke of genius. Every Saturday night crowds of fans lined up for tickets to see straight guys hypnotized into mindless, gay sex slaves, ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. 

For some reason, they never ran out of willing participants. Alvaro shrugged, chalking it up to the typical heterosexual male ego; there was no shortage of arrogant, young guys who believed they were invulnerable to the power of suggestion. The legal office at corporate was kept busy handling the liability waivers but so far the club hadn’t been sued. It was testament to Alexei’s skill that the enslaved boys invariably ended up loving their captivity. 

And begged for enhancements at the hands of Dr. Jiménez. 

The doctor ran a lucrative business supplying the brainwashed slaves with wild augmentations. Many of them returned to the club sporting their newly freaked out physiques and took up jobs as performers, bouncers, or wait staff. It was a win-win situation for everyone but most of all for El Agujero; the club’s profits had skyrocketed and just last week Alvaro had received an enormous raise. It was enough for him to purchase a new house big enough to house Aiden Weatherby and his three friends…as well as his boy, Justin, of course.

Alvaro shook his head, still unable to believe his good fortune. He was now the proud papi of five of the hottest muscle bulls a man could want. Smiling, he looked over to the bar where Justin was showing Aiden how to mix a gin and tonic. The two beasts could barely squeeze behind the bar and were so ungainly that even simple drinks took them a half hour to prepare but the patrons didn’t mind. No, they didn’t mind in the least! They came from all over the city to see the two silicone-filled freaks lumber around in their tiny thongs. Alvaro even had the bar lowered so that the brutes had to bend over in order to reach anything. That was a huge hit with the clientele. He grinned at his deviousness.

Alexei followed his gaze and remarked to Dr. Jiménez, “I still can’t believe how much they look like Alvaro. They could be his sons! You are a true miracle worker, Sergio.”

Dr. Jiménez bowed his head modestly, saying, “I couldn’t do it without you, my friend. Or without our dear Alvaro. We make a good team!”

“Hear, hear!” Alexei agreed, raising his glass again.

Alvaro clinked his glass with the others and motioned to Justin. The big guy lifted his bull head and smiled broadly, waddling over to the table. “Justin,” Alvaro asked, reaching up to pat the massive galoot on the head, “be a good boy and grab us another round of drinks, will you?”

“Sure thing, Papi!” he chirped before wobbling off, laughing when Alvaro reached out and spanked his bare ass.

“He sure is a beautiful boy, Alvaro,” Alexei commented. “He makes my own Pete look homely. That dark skin, those full lips, that wide nose, those expressive eyes… I even think I like him better now that he’s no longer hypnotized.”

Alvaro dipped his head, embarrassed by all the praise. “He’s a keeper alright,” he murmured. “And I agree. He can be a bit of a bitch now and then but overall he’s settled into his new role happily enough.”

“Yes, they always do,” Alexei sighed. “They always do, don’t they? It always make me glad when I see one of my boys embrace his true nature. It’s a beautiful thing.” For a third and final time, he raised his glass, saying, “To making a boy’s dreams come true, my friends! To making a boy’s dreams come true!”

***