Working Out with the Neighbor

"Lay down on the table."

"I... what?"

"Lay. Down. Face up."

It's like my body doesn't even wait for me to respond. I set the mop down at my feet. Before I know it, I'm lying down on the table, facing the ceiling. I blink for a few seconds as my conscious brain catches up.

"Wait, Tyler, what are you-"

His hand digs into my pectoral, so hard that I yelp in pain.

"What the fuck, Tyler-"

Now the other hand. He digs both, shovel-like, into the top of my chest- kneading the muscle through disappointing layers of flab. I try to squirm out of it, but he's pinning me in place with just his grip.

"Relax, Chris. I can't have my training partner out this long. What you need is a massage."

His fingers trace over my chest- working, probing, rolling out sore spots. It's so unbelievably painful. He's not massaging, exactly, more like digging, and every time he finds a knot or a tender area he works it with a pressure that's just on the edge of unbearable. After a minute I'm almost crying. He migrates to my shoulders, eventually, then my traps, then my neck. I'm so hypnotized by the sensation, that feeling of pain mixed with intense relief, that I barely notice he's loosened that intense grasp, and he's caressing me softly, caressing the brutalized muscles.

Those fingertips slowly glide over my chest, scraping over the delicate skin under my thin shirt. I almost moan, but realize how embarrassing that would be. I'm a grown man, brought low by this fucking teenager's workout, and now I'm going to act like he's fondling me? Ridiculous.

His hands make broad strokes over my chest, relaxing me, occasionally rubbing against my sensitive nipples. At one point I open my mouth when he drags a fingertip ever so gently over my torso, and look up to see him staring down at me, grinning. What... what is he doing?

"Turn over."

I gulp, audibly, and look up at this teenage hulk. Just like before, I start following his orders before I can even think. I'm totally face down on the table before I even ask why.

"Uh... Tyler... what are you-"

"Chris, we're doing squats tomorrow. And I can't have my workout partner be a bitch for two days in a row. Can I?"

With that, he digs his hand into my hamstrings. They're not nearly as tender as my chest, but the strength behind his grip is unbelievable. This time, I can't help it, and I cry out. The difference between his tender caress and his deep massage mode is excruciating.

"Ok, Tyler, Jesus fucking Christ that hurts!"

Before I can say anything else, he moves his attention up to my ass, once again stopping me from speaking with another deep and well-timed push. His hands travel from my hip flexors to my ass muscle itself, kneading and probing, loosening me. Eventually, his hands stop on the inside edge of both cheeks, and it takes me a second to understand that once again, he's switched from that hardcore massage mode to something more delicate.

I shudder uncontrollably when one gentle finger runs over my shorts, from the top of my crack downwards, pressing lightly on my asshole. It carries on, feather-light to almost scrape against the back of my balls.

"Just making sure you're loose enough for tomorrow, Chris. You spend too much time sitting down at your computer. Don't want you too tight. You might hurt yourself."

Hypnotized, I find myself agreeing with him. His delicate touches feel so much better than those hard, kneading massages did. I've been lulled into a sleepiness that I don't fully understand until he flips me over, offering his hand and yanking me off of his table.

I don't even realize that I'm totally erect until I make it almost all the way to my front door.

*

I wake up the next day with the hardest morning wood I've ever had. I don't even bother bringing up my phone, I cum in two minutes flat just thinking about the way that Tyler grabbed that girl's chest as he fucked her.

When I log in on the morning, I have a quick chat with my team and let them loose with some words of encouragement. There's no point in yelling, they know what they're doing. Everyone seems relieved, and I'm happy to have quick meetings, because not five minutes after I log off am I sitting there, cock in hand, watching a muscular pornstar power-fuck some bimbo in the ass. By the time I finish, an hour later, my team's already made significant progress on the day.

*

"You can't stay in the hole forever, man! Let's go!"

So this time, I'm actually going to die. Tyler patiently taught me to squat, and he assured me that the weight he's put on the bar is a 'warmup' amount. The barbell, resting on my tortured shoulders, is basically stapling me to the ground. I've already got six reps in. He wants eight. But my legs are shot, and my head feels like it's going to explode, so I'm basically just dying.

"Come on, Chris! Light weight, baby!"

My whole body shakes under the strain. I grit my teeth and start to rise.

"Don't bitch out now, Chrissy! Is that what you want to do? To be Chrissy the bitch?"

For whatever reason, that is what gets me going. I grunt, actually bark out loud, and force myself to stand up with every ounce of will that I have. I almost pass out when I get fully upright, and by the time I look at myself in the mirror all I can see is me, red-faced and panting, right on the verge of death. Tyler is standing right behind me, dwarfing me with his immense frame, ready to catch me, or the weight. Or both.

"One more baby!"

"Tyler. You can't. Be serious." I pant, trying not to puke.

"Oh I am, Chris! Come on! Get some!"

I figure that if I work out hard enough that I go unconscious then he'll stop bothering me. So, one more.

This one actually does cause me to fuck up. I get barely halfway to the ground before my legs give out. The weight immediately starts accelerating me downwards as my body fails, folding me towards the floor. A fraction of a second later and Tyler is there, pinning me in place, holding me upright and stopping the weight from scraping its way down my back.

"Hey, Chris, hey, I got you. I got you. Breathe."

Both bear hands latch onto my chest, right where he was massaging me yesterday. I swear he's doing that on purpose.

"Come on, Chris. Just a little bit more. Don't give up."

I keep sitting down, feeling my ass grind into his crotch- he supports me the whole way down. When we reach the hole, the very bottom of the lift, the pressure lifts- and immediately I feel the weight shift again. When I start to rise, he glues his hulking body to mine and lifts with me, grabbing my tender chest with his hands and grinding his groin into my ass.

I almost gasp when I feel the bulk of his cock grind against my asshole. It stays there all the way for the remainder of the lift, as I slowly but surely stand back upright, totally helped by Tyler. I dump the weight in the safety hooks, almost missing.

"Nice one, Chris! You got it!"

He hugs me, and I feel an elation at a job well done. He looks down at me, and I up at him, and once again I'm struck by just how manly, just how strong this teenager is. My hands wrap around his shoulders, feeling so delicate against those muscles. He slips one hand down my back, cupping my ass. I'm way too tired to shove him away, so I just stand there, breathing hard, feeling him caress me.

"You've got a great ass, Chris. Chrissy. I knew you had it in you."

This kid is groping me like I'm some co-ed. I want to shove him away, I want to say something, but I haven't got the energy for it. So I look up at him, staring into those intense, fiery eyes. He squeezes me one last time, and I yelp when he slaps my ass, eyes gleaming.

He shoos me away when I go behind him to try to spot him the same way. Ten minutes later, he's easily squatting three times what I weigh. Not that I could've really helped him, in my current state.

He tries explaining where I failed, and the biomechanics of squatting, and certain ways I can improve my lifts. All I can think about the whole time is how his hands felt on my body, and how hard his body felt when he pressed himself against me. I don't even watch any porn that night, I'm so fucking aroused. I just cum on my chest, hard, thinking about how I felt in my teenage neighbors arms, the thrill that ran through me when he said I had a great ass.

It's only when I wander into the bathroom to clean myself up that I realize how fucking weird that is.

*

"Yoga, bro. Come over"

The text came in at 730am, at exactly the same time as my alarm. I don't even get out of bed until 8. Not for lack of trying- the chest soreness was one thing, but my legs have just given up on life. It's a miracle I'm fucking alive, because moving my legs more than a few inches at a time is unbearable. Everything hurts. Everything.

I returned the text when I got out of the shower, dreading the ordeal of going down the stairs to make coffee.

"Tyler, what the fuck did you do to me. I'm so fucking sore."

The response came within a few minutes.

"LOL, I bet. Not the first time I've heard that."

I contemplate this for a while, half rolling my eyes at the teenage swagger, half idly wondering about the girls that this stud fucks. That fleeting image of the brunette in the minidress skitters through my mind. I see his rippling muscles, his sweat-sheened torso, pumping away, filling that ass with his improbably huge, meaty cock. My phone pings again and snaps me out of my daydream.

"You coming over today? Or are you going to be a bitch again?"

For some reason, a little shiver goes up my spine. This kid doesn't stop. No wonder he's so insanely jacked. I take a moment to thumb in my response, idly daydreaming about how his body felt, pressed against mine, his cock rubbing up and down my ass while I struggled to squat.

"Are you kidding? I can barely walk. Aren't you supposed to take rest days or something?"

The reply comes almost instantly.

"Yeah, of course. Yoga is a rest day."

*

Once again, without even really thinking about it, I'm in Tyler's garage. He's set out two mats. Both are identical, except for the fact that the one he gives me is pink.

Tyler doesn't seem like the kind of guy who does a lot of yoga, so I'm shocked at how flexible he is. He's wearing a loose-fitting grey shirt, which gives me the occasional glance of the curve of his torso, the shadows formed by his core. He starts me with some basic stretches, mercifully supporting me as I stand there, shaking, trying to warm myself up.

He takes a few minutes to guide me through some increasingly difficult poses. From a standing position, I do a few different yoga poses- folded totally over, grabbing my shins, doing something called 'sunflowers'. Eventually, he moves me to more challenging postures, forcing my screaming legs into longer and more painful stretches. By the time he walks me into something called a downward-facing dog- that is, my hips pointing straight up, my hands and feet touching the ground, my entire body forming a kind of giant triangle- my legs are shaking uncontrollably. I grunt as I try to force my feet to be flat with the ground, feeling the strain in my calves and hamstrings.

"No, Chris, Jesus," Tyler laughs, looking over at me. He's in a perfect V position, hands and feet flush to the mat. With one fluid movement he pushes his body forward, until he's in a weird sort of pushup- and from there, he rolls upright, standing up in a single graceful motion. Someone that big shouldn't be able to move like that.

"You can pedal out your legs, if you want. Just hold it for a few breaths longer. And relax," he says, walking over to stand behind me. His bare feet slap on the concrete of the garage as he prowls over, huge and intimidating. I stare between my legs and see him stop, directly behind me. It's only then that it clicks as to just how vulnerable this position leaves me.

"Head forward, Chris."

I look forward and almost jump as he delicately wraps both hands around my hips. "Like this," he says, forcefully pushing my body into place. The motion stretches my legs beyond a point where I'm comfortable- I actually do yelp as my hamstrings loosen.

"Relax," he croons, pushing my lower back flat with his other hand. I try not to shudder as my muscles ease into the stretch, protesting. His body, his bulk, is right behind me. He's pushing into me with his hands, with his hips.

With his crotch.

"Ok Chris, ok. Now puppy dog pose."

I start moving, trying to remember what he wants, then drop my upper body to the mat while leaving my ass in the air. Puppy dog means you sink your torso down, letting your arms rest, stretching out your back. A few seconds of this feels like heaven compared to the downward facing dog, where half of my muscles were screaming. I groan as I relax into it, relishing the sensation.

Tyler's hands are on my ass again, massaging it through my shorts. I can feel my hips start to loosen under the pressure.

"That's it, Chris. That's it. Head down a little more."

He pushes the back of my head, gently but with immense strength, until I'm completely face down on the mat, arms stretching out front. Just my ass is sticking up, and the feeling of my muscles stretching and Tyler's hands massaging me is heavenly. I groan, without thinking.

"Nice one baby. Nice one. You really do have a great ass, you know?"

I feel like I should respond to this kid saying something like that, but the position feels so natural. Him, right behind me, pushing my head down with one of his huge hands while feeling up my ass with the other. Me, face down, ass up, moaning under his powerful grip. He's totally behind me, as close as we were when he was helping me squat. His massage feels heavenly.

He spends another minute running his hands over my body, prodding and massaging my sore muscles. I can feel the heat roll off of his body. His cock is unmistakably grinding against me, an iron rod crushing into me as his hips press into mine. That weird sensation of sleepy hypnosis washes over me again. Wasn't he just... massaging me...?

"I mean, you'd look way hotter if you wore something that showed this ass off. Let's get these shorts off, just so I can get a better feel for you..."

With that, he hooks a finger in my waistband, pulling my shorts to my knees in one smooth motion. I snap my eyes open. I'm on the ground, face down, ass up, and this teenage kid is working my boxers down. I turn my head slightly, and try to say something, but once again he starts torturing my sore muscles with his strong, massaging hands.

"Tyler, I- oooohhh," I moan, feeling that sensation build again. The intense relaxation of his grip, the combination of pain and release.

"You what?" He says, mocking me, kneading my now-bare ass with both hands.

"I... I don't think... I-" I pant. His circling thumbs are tracing down my crack, scraping down, down, making me moan. I'm putty in his hands, not thinking straight. My own prick is rock-hard, trapped under me. He's ten years younger than me, and I'm on his floor, squirming like the girl he fucked.

"Just relax," he says, and my entire world changes when he leans forward and runs his tongue over my exposed asshole.

I can't believe it. I moan again, digging both hands into the mat, not understanding what's happening. This kid, this teenager, is giving me a rimjob. Nobody's ever done that before, I've only seen it happen in porn. He's stopped massaging me, and is using both hands to hold my cheeks open. I blink and squirm and gasp and cry out as he works me with his tongue.

"Tyler, what... what are-"

"Shh," he says, leaning back for a moment. "Your ass was made for this, baby."

He dives back in, eliciting another involuntary shudder from me. I'm straight. I'm totally straight. But something about being here, helpless, my facing grinding into a sweaty yoga mat, it sets me off. I'm supposed to me an authority figure, at work. I'm supposed to be the one on top. But being down here, with Tyler lapping at me, penetrating me with his tongue, working with me, it feels so right. I lose myself in the sensation, letting him have his way with me.

"Now," he growls. "Are you ready for the main event?"

I'm so high I can barely register what he's saying. I only realize something changed when I feel him move away, and wiggle my hips backwards, trying to entice him back in. He sees it, and laughs.

"I asked you a question, Chrissy," he says. That snaps me out of my reverie, and I turn over onto my back to see him ripping off his shorts, stripping down to his boxers. His huge erection tents against his underwear, pressing against the fabric, a wet spot of precum already forming at the tip. Christ, he's huge.

"Tyler, I'm not a... My name isn't Chrissy." I try to say it forcefully, but he just laughs at me. With one hand, he reaches over to a nearby shelf, and grabs something. He snakes the other between my legs again, and runs a fingertip over my freshly-tongued hole, eliciting a yelp from me.

"Let's get one thing straight," he says, continuing to stroke my back entrance with one finger while retrieving a small bottle with the other. "You came over here to work out, right?"

I moan as he barely works his fingertip inside me. He pulls it out a second later, and I relax, only to gasp again when I feel him rub something cold and wet onto my asshole. He's lubing me up. "Just to work out, Tyler."

"Sir," he says.

"What?"

"You call me sir, today." With that, he plunges a finger deep in me. I groan, a throaty noise or pure lust, and try to get my confused thoughts in order. His finger thrusts into me, grinding against me from the inside, and I gasp with a mixture of confusion and pleasure as he hooks it inside of me, stroking gently, the way I always do with women. He leans forward, locking eyes with me.

"So, Chrissy. You're supposed to be working out right now. But instead, what are you doing?"

"I'm, I'm on your floor. I'm doing yoga."

He actually laughs, out loud. "Does this seem like yoga to you? Also, my confused little sissy, you didn't call me by my name."

I almost black out as he works a second finger into me. This one stretches me out even further, and a bolt of pain runs through me as my body tries to accommodate the new intruder. He leans forward even further, face-to-face with me, and I can see the arousal and triumph written across his face.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry sir!"

"Good girl," he snickers, stroking me further. I break eye contact, trying not to look at his fiery eyes, and stare down at my hard prick. It bobs helplessly every time he thrusts into me, snapping me between lucidity and erotic bliss.

"Now, sissy. Here's what we're going to do. You are going to repeat what I say, word for word. And if you don't," he pulls his fingers out of me, and I feel yet another finger start probing against me, threatening. "Then you'll be punished. Do you understand?"

He's so dominating. So big. So manly.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now repeat: My name is Chrissy."

"My," and here I have to pause, because again he's thrusting into me, stretching me out, working me with his magic hands. "My name is Chrissy."

"I thought I was a man."

"I thought I was a man."

"But I'd be much happier,"

"But I'd be mu-much happier," I squirm when he holds his fingers inside me, deeper than he has before, and I feel my body tighten around him.

"Being a sissy. Dressing like a little slut. Sucking cock and getting fucked."

"Being a sissy. Dressing like a little slut. Su-su-su-su..." I can't finish it.

"Oh, Chrissy. And you were doing so well."

With that, he pulls his fingers out of me, relieving the pressure. I groan when he exits me, and stay in position, waiting for him to re-enter.

I don't even realize my eyes are screwed shut until I snap them open. He's not going back in.