Encore — Chapter Six (Patreon)

PREVIOUSLY ON ENCORE:

I didn't mean to turn into a submissive gay jock, but when Jayden moved in across the hall, my world started to change. Jayden introduced us to a new reality TV show called "Encore", and it's turning everyone gay. It started with my roommate Josh and our friend Liam, who have now been transformed into a Himbo and a Muscle Boy. I teamed up with Liam's roommate Mark to resist the effects of the show, but soon we were hooked on it too. Next thing I knew, I was leashed to a pillar in a gay bar and making out with any guy who wanted me. After a night in Jayden's bed, I finally admitted I'm gay, though I'm not quite sure how everything works yet. Mark went home with a guy too, and he just texted — turns out he's gay too.  So… is that it?

----------

“Get over here… NOW!!!” I texted Mark.

He had just come out, and I couldn’t wait to talk to him. Not just about being gay, but about everything. The night, the guys, the hookups. My fingers flew across the screen.

"And get ready to spill the tea!!!" I added.  "That Connor guy was super hot!!"

"On my way ;)" he answered.

I grinned and tossed my phone aside. Jayden must have come over while I was in the shower — he was snuggled up with Josh on the couch, scrolling and watching videos.

“I know something you don’t know,” I said, flopping dramatically across the cushions.

Jayden raised an eyebrow. “Is it… how much you love sucking cock?”

“No,” I laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “You already know I love cock!”

Josh looked up. “How about… you love making out with boys?”

“Duh,” I smirked. “No, you’re never gonna guess.”

Jayden and Josh exchanged a knowing glance.

“Maybe it’s about Mark?” Jayden teased.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

I leapt to my feet and threw it open. Mark stepped in like he was auditioning for a thirst trap. Shirtless. Cutoff jean shorts hugging his thighs. A little backpack with tight straps that pushed his pecs together. Sneakers with no socks. Freshly gay and living for it.

“Hey boys,” Mark said, locking eyes with Josh in a way that was way too thirsty to be subtle. “Big news. I’m gay!”

“We know,” Jayden said, cracking up.

“You knew?!” I gasped.

Jayden shoved his phone in my face. “He posted it on TikTok, babe.”

I blinked at the screen. It was a video of Mark dancing shirtless, lipsyncing to Lady Gaga with the caption: “new era 💅🏽🌈 #gaynow #encorelife.” Thousands of likes. Dozens of comments. Hearts. Fire emojis.

“You did not!” I laughed.

“I did,” Mark beamed.

“Did you fuck that guy last night?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“Nah. We just fooled around a bit," Mark scratched the back of his head bashfully. "He jerked me off. I could tell he wanted me to fuck him, but… I wasn’t gay yet.”

“And now?” Jayden asked, sipping a coffee.

Mark grinned. “Now I’m totally down to fuck!”

Jayden leaned back against the arm of the couch, a teasing smile playing on his lips, the fabric of his tank top stretched tight across his chest. I noticed shit like that now.

“You guys just took the hardest step on your Encore journey,” he grinned. “Now that you’re gay… the magic can really take full effect.”

“There’s more?” Mark asked.  He shifted nervously, but his bulge twitched. “I’m already a gay guy in a thong… how much worse does this get?”

“It doesn’t get worse,” Jayden chuckled. “It gets better.”

Mark folded his arms across his chest, his pecs bulging with the movement.

“Better how?”

“Remember how you said you wanted the muscle?” Jayden asked.

“Yeah. Check.” Mark grinned and struck a pose, arms flexed, abs tightening.

“Mmm… you’ve just had a taste,” Jayden purred as his eyes dropped to Mark’s tight waist. “I think you’re gonna love the next episode.”

Mark’s grin went wide, boyish and eager. He turned to me, flushed with excitement.

“Ryan, we gotta watch Encore like… right now.”

I glanced at Josh.  He was brushing his fingers along the band of his shorts.

“You mind if we use the TV?”  It was my place too, but… my cock throbbed in it's cage when I asked.

“Go for it,” Josh said with a wink.

I grabbed a couple beers from the fridge, collected a kiss from Jayden, and followed Mark to the couch. Jayden and Josh disappeared into Josh’s room, the door closing behind them with a low, promising thud.

“You think they’re doing it?” I whispered, dropping beside Mark, my thigh brushing his.

“Don’t get distracted,” Mark murmured, fingers already tapping the app open. His voice was thick with desire. “We’re gonna get huge.”

----------

Mark cued up the next episode of Encore, and the moment the intro started playing, I felt my cock twitch in its cage. There was something about that theme music — a slow, sensual synth line over a heavy bass pulse — that lit me up from the inside. Mark cracked open his beer, took a swig, and leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen. I was right there with him.

This week’s episode opened with the contestants meeting a new mentor: a personal trainer in tight joggers and a cropped hoodie that barely covered his shredded abs. His name was Ace, and he looked like someone you’d dream about fucking, then wake up and immediately hit the gym. He walked down a line of guys, touching shoulders, adjusting posture, whispering affirmations like, "You're going to be irresistible," and "Time to build the body you've always wanted."

Mark let out a low whistle. "Damn. If that guy trained me, I'd do anything he said."

"Same," I murmured, and not just because I'll follow anyone's orders. There was something intoxicating about the way he looked at the contestants, like he was seeing their truest, hottest selves — the raw statue beneath the stone — and all he had to do was chip away the excess. Like Michelangelo said, the sculpture is already in the marble.

Ace could set it free.

In a montage soaked with sweat and pheromones, each contestant trained one-on-one with Ace. He had them shirtless, pushing through curls, deadlifts, squats — but each guy responded differently, and Ace saw it all.

Pete's traps swelled with every rep, veins bulging as Ace pressed his hand into the small of his back, whispering, "That’s it, beast."

Chris moaned quietly as his glutes clenched under the weight of his squats, his tank top drenched and clinging to his cut torso.

And Alan — pale, nervous, twitchy Alan — flushed deep red when Ace grabbed his pecs and said, "These are gonna bounce by the end of this, trust me."

The camera lingered on the transformation: muscle, yes, but also blushes, bulges, soft whimpers, and lips parted in anticipation. The encouragements weren’t just coaching. They were invitations. Promises. Foreplay.

By the end of the montage, every guy looked transformed. Glowing. Bigger, harder, hotter.

Then the screen faded to black, and the credits rolled.

Mark and I sat there, panting softly.  My shirt was damp with sweat. My cage ached. His shorts were tenting. Both our phones pinged.

"Encore: At-Home Challenge Unlocked. Ready to play?"

I blinked. Mark was already grinning, tapping the screen. "No fucking way—"

The TV synced up to our phones, flashing white, then displayed Ace — sweat-slick and shirtless, holding a familiar tablet. "You’ve seen the transformations. Now it’s your turn. Launch the Character Builder, and sculpt your desire. But remember — you’re not building him. You’re setting your own potential."

"Oh fuck," Mark whispered.

I was trembling as I opened the app.

Mark maxed everything — hulking pecs, boulder shoulders, monster arms, a cock like a beer can. "Subtle," I teased.

"Shut up," he grinned. "This is what dreams are made of."

I dragged my sliders differently: Pecs 90%. Ass 95%. Cock 100%. My fingers shook as I hit submit.

There was a flash on the screen. A shimmer in the air.

Mark gasped. I looked over—his body was inflating. His pecs surged outward, round and firm, nipples thickening. His arms swelled, traps rising. His thighs strained his shorts, and his glutes popped like twin grapefruits.

"Oh fuck," he groaned, grinding against the couch.

And then I felt it. My cage tightened as my cock grew heavier. My pecs tingled, swelling under my tank until the fabric hugged them like a second skin. I twisted to look behind me—my ass had exploded, round and bouncy, the kind you could spank for days.

"Mark," I gasped. "It’s happening."

He turned, eyes hungry. "Dude, you look so good."

We stared at each other, breathing hard, cocks twitching, skin flushed.

"Talk about Be More," I gasped.

We didn’t even need to say anything. Mark just reached for the remote and cued up another episode. The Encore theme kicked in again — those synths, that pulse — and I sank back into the couch, ass still tingling, chest still flushed, cage still full.

The episode started in the usual way: new day, fresh challenge. The host stood before the contestants, glimmering in a tight mesh tee that shimmered under the lights.

"This week," he said, "We’re celebrating confidence, desire, and control. Strip it all away."

The challenge? A strip tease competition.

They brought out a full stage, installed a pole, even rolled in a runway. The contestants were told to choreograph their own striptease routine—to music, to lights, to the rhythm of their own bodies.

Mark and I leaned forward. This was gonna be good.

One by one, the guys hit the stage. Colt did a slow burn, sliding his shirt off with one finger, letting the audience take in every bulge, every bead of sweat. Billy was athletic and cocky, jumping into a split that made the jockstrap crowd go feral. Of course Striptease topped them all by crawling on all fours, staring down the camera like he’d discovered his inner slut.

We were hard the entire time. Well… Mark was hard.  I was aching.

When the winner was crowned (Striptease, obviously), the host clapped his hands. "Now it’s your turn."

Mark and I both looked at our phones, which buzzed with a new notification.

Encore: At-Home Challenge Unlocked. Ready to play?

The screen flickered, and the host reappeared, looking directly at us. "Confidence starts with pride," he said, voice low and smoky. "Pick the body part you’re most proud of."

Mark and I locked eyes.

"You go first," he said.

"My ass," I said immediately. "No contest."

He laughed. "Pecs, obviously."

"Submitting answers," the host said, as though he’d heard us. "Excellent choices."

I felt my clothes change. No… transform. My sweatpants vanished, replaced with short shorts that barely covered anything. The fabric hugged my ass like it was painted on. My tank top shrank, sliding upward until it bunched under my pecs, leaving my midriff bare. I twisted, gasped. My ass looked huge. Pornographic.

Next to me, Mark let out a grunt. "What the fuck," he growled.

It was like a cropped gym tee was growing across his chest.  It had a deep V that framed his pecs and barely hid his nipples.  His jean shorts softened, becoming a silky pair of gym shorts, cut high on the thigh and low at the waist.

Somehow more clothes actually made him hotter.  Gave him something to reveal.

He looked down at himself, bounced his pecs, and moaned.

"Dude," I breathed.

"Yeah," he agreed

I slid a hand down to adjust my cage, groaning as it throbbed, my bulge totally visible under the tiny shorts.

"Dude… Encore is insane." I laughed.

"Encore is everything," he grinned.

Mark turned toward me, pecs still flexing beneath that ridiculous crop top. The fabric clung to his chest like it wanted to be peeled off, the deep V barely containing the heavy swell of his muscle tits. His skin glistened faintly in the low light, flushed from the episode and the way I kept staring.

"We should go to the gym," he said, voice thick with pent-up energy.

I hesitated.

My cock throbbed in its cage, my ass practically bursting out of the too-tight shorts. I wanted to show off — the thought of people staring, knowing exactly what kind of boy I was now — it sent a thrill straight through me. But right underneath that thrill was something else. A flicker of doubt. The kind of fear you don’t say out loud.

What if someone from my old life saw me? What if they laughed? Or worse — what if they understood what I’d become? I could already imagine it: the stares, the snickers, the questions I wouldn't know how to answer. How do you explain wanting to be looked at like meat? How do you say out loud that you like the idea of being ogled?

The mirror had no mercy earlier. The boy I saw — hair messy from couch cuddling, ass pushed up, lips parted, bulge screaming beneath the stretch of nylon — he wasn’t just gay. He was hungry for it.

"C'mon," I moaned, trying to shake the thought, sinking deeper into the couch. "One more episode."

Mark raised an eyebrow, amused, and let out a breathy laugh. "Fine. But you’re earning it."

Before I could ask what he meant, he grabbed me by the waist and hauled me in. I landed against him with a thud — face first into his pecs. They were insane. Solid but pillowy, hot to the touch, with just enough give to cradle my face. I inhaled deeply, catching the scent of sweat and something else, something male and charged.

The fear melted a little. Not gone. But quieter.

I let my lips brush his skin. Then I opened my mouth and gave his right pec a playful bite.

"Fuck," he muttered, chest twitching. One of his hands slid down to squeeze my ass through my painted-on shorts.

I let out a little whimper, half-laugh, half-moan, then reached for the remote, my cheek still pressed to his chest. "Next episode coming right up."

He grunted, his fingers dragging slowly up my spine as I hit play.

The screen lit up again, casting our flushed bodies in electric blue. That synthy beat hit like a drug — deep, throbbing, erotic. I could feel it in my bones. In my bulge. In my soul.

Encore wasn’t done with us yet. Not even close.

The opening sting of the next episode hit hard. That pulse-pounding synth beat had barely faded before the camera zoomed in on the contestants, all standing shirtless behind glowing podiums. Their skin gleamed, their bodies pumped, and each of them had that hungry look in their eyes. Whatever Encore had planned, they wanted it.

The Host’s voice echoed: "Welcome to the Encore Quiz Showdown! One point for every correct answer, but remember — wrong answers come with big consequences." He winked at the camera. "Or should I say big rewards."

The camera cut to a contestant — Flame, the former grad student, now a beefy jock — answering a geography question with a totally blank look. "Uhh… France?"

The buzzer sounded.

"Ooh, so close!" the Host said with mock sympathy. "That’s actually Botswana. But don’t worry — your pecs won’t hold it against you."

Right in front of us, Flame's already big chest swelled. His tank top shredded as his pecs surged forward, ballooning into full-on shelf-mode, nipples fattening and darkening as they grew. He blinked, looked down, and grinned like an idiot.

Another round.

The Host grinned. "Next question: Who was the second president of the United States?"

James, the Wall Street quant, blinked. "Uhh… Abraham Lincoln?"

BZZT.

"Sorry, babe. But hey — wrong answer, right gains."

James moaned as his glutes puffed out another couple inches. He bounced them playfully. "Oops."

Next contestant. "What element does 'O' represent on the periodic table?"

"Octagon?"

The Host laughed, and so did the audience. Shutter's biceps swelled, veins pushing to the surface like rivers.

Cut back to Flame: "What’s the square root of 64?"

"Nine?"

Another buzz. His thighs bulged, his pecs jiggled. He looked dazed — and incredibly turned on.

Mark was laughing beside me, rubbing one hand across his own chest. I could see the gears turning in his head. I was just as turned on — but I also couldn’t help feeling nervous again.

Then the ding of a notification came. The at-home challenge.

"Want to grow like the pros?" the Host said, now fully shirtless and jacked. "Record yourself getting quizzed by the Encore app. Get it all wrong — and show off the results."

Mark was already grabbing his phone. "Dude. We have to."

I swallowed. "What if it makes us look even dumber?"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "That’s the point."

He launched the app, and the quiz began.

"What’s the capital of Italy?"

Mark smirked. "Cleveland."

BZZT. His pecs jumped an inch outward. His shirt strained. He flexed and the seams whined.

I stared, my heart racing. "Shit. Okay. My turn."

"What’s 7 times 6?"

I paused. The correct answer was right there, but I heard myself say, "Sixty… nine?"

BZZT. My ass puffed out. The waistband of my shorts cinched tighter as the meat of my glutes rounded and swelled. I gasped, both hands flying to my hips.

"Oh my god."

More questions came. "Who painted the Mona Lisa?"

"Vin Diesel."

BZZT. Mark’s biceps surged.

"What’s the boiling point of water?"

"Uh… 420 degrees, bro."

BZZT. My delts pumped, widening my vee.

We went back and forth, getting everything wrong. On purpose. Our bodies loved it.

Mark’s sculpted frame looked like it had gone through a funhouse mirror. My muscle tits jiggled with every breath. My ass felt like it was trying to outgrow my body. My cock throbbed in its cage, harder than it had ever been.

We recorded it all, our moans and giggles and flexes. When it was over, the app prompted us to upload.

I hesitated again — that flicker of fear. What if someone I know sees this?

Mark nudged me. "C’mon. Look at yourself. You’re hot, you’re dumb, and you love it."

He was right.

I hit upload.

Ten seconds later, the likes were rolling in.

I needed more.

----------

The walk to the gym felt like a runway.

The afternoon sun was hot, and my clothes didn’t hide a damn thing. My cutoff tee clung to my chest, drenched already. Every step made my spray-painted shorts ride up higher, showing even more ass than I thought possible. The breeze tickled the sweat between my cheeks. I was basically jiggling down the sidewalk like a muscle jock on parade.

Mark was right there with me. He walked like a goddamn sex ad — that v-neck stretched across his chest, shiny red shorts hugging his glutes tight. Every car that passed slowed down. Every pedestrian looked. One guy tripped over a curb.

"Dude," I muttered, giggling. "We’re, like… walking porn."

"Hell yeah." Mark smirked. "Feels good, huh?"

I nodded, biting my lip. My brain was mush. All I could think about was my body, his body, how exposed we were, how hot it was to be looked at. Every step made my cock grind against the inside of my cage, leaking just from the friction.

By the time we hit the gym doors, I was throbbing. Dumb and proud. And horny.

The gym was packed, but Mark and I didn’t even hesitate. We strutted in like we owned the place.

We looked obscene. And we knew it.

Mark grabbed us an empty benchpress. "Push day, bro."

I grinned and racked up plates. "All about the gains, baby."

Every mirror we passed, we flexed. Every bro who looked twice got a wink or a smirk. I caught my reflection mid-set and almost moaned. My chest bounced with every rep, thick and heavy, and the sweat just made it gleam more. My shorts were soaked and you could see the hard shell of my cage.

"You always this hot when you lift?" a voice said beside Mark.

Mark turned. The guy was tall, ripped, with a smile that made him look like trouble in the best way. Probably early 30s, olive skin, thick forearms. His tank said Brute Mode.

"Depends who’s watching," Mark said, giving him a slow once-over.

The guy looked Mark up and down like he was deciding which part to lick first.

"I'm Nate. I’d love to get a workout in with you sometime. Or whatever."

I was mid-set, but I didn’t miss a beat watching Mark smirk.

"Tonight work?" he said, casual but clearly into it.

Nate’s eyes flared. "Hell yeah."

They swapped numbers. Mark’s phone buzzed as the contact saved: Nate - Gym Daddy

Mark walked over, towel slung around his neck, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

"You’re such a dumb slut now," I teased.

He flexed. "Takes one to know one."

We laughed and bumped fists.

I was done with smart shit. We were thinking about pump, pecs, ass, and how hot we looked doing it. We were all muscle now, and proud of it.

----------

We got back to my apartment just as the sun was setting, the sky streaked pink and gold like some oversexed Instagram filter. Mark was practically buzzing beside me as we rode the elevator up.

"Dude, I can't believe he gave me his number," he said, cheeks flushed and chest puffed. "That guy totally wants to fuck."

"Yeah," I smirked. "And you totally wanna hook up too."

Mark hesitated for half a beat. Then he nodded, almost sheepish. "Yeah. I mean, obviously. But... like... do you know how?  I'm… uh… I'm like a virgin…"

I blinked. "Wait. You’ve never..."

"Well... a gay one," Mark clarified quickly. "That straight shit doesn’t count."

"Oh my god," I laughed. "Madonna would be so proud."

He grinned, a little nervously. "Shut up."

"It's okay," I grinned as I unlocked the door. "Jayden will know! He knows like… everything!"

But my apartment was empty.  Jayden and Josh must have gone out or something.

"Damn," Mark pouted, sinking beside me. "What are we gonna do?"

We sat in silence for a second, staring into space. Then I said, "Okay, so we know some stuff. Like... sometimes it’s cocksucking."

"But sometimes it’s butt stuff too," Mark nodded solemnly. "I mean, I can suck a cock."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay fine," he admitted. "Connor blew a load straight down my throat last night."

"Nice," I laughed, impressed.

"Gym daddy had a pretty huge ass, right?" Mark said, biting his lip.  "I bet he’s into taking it up the butt."

"So you wanna practice?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, voice low. "I wanna be ready."

We went into my room and peeled off our gym gear, dropping it in sweaty clumps on the floor. Mark was already hard.  I would have been, except… well, you know.

"Okay, so like... how do we do this?" he asked, crouching awkwardly behind me.

"I dunno. Just try pushing in."

He spat into his palm, slicked himself, and lined up. His cock pressed against my hole, hot and eager, but I tensed. It burned.

"Ow. Wait, wait. Fuck."

"Sorry!"

"No, it’s okay. Just—slow. I think I need to relax."

We repositioned. Tried again. Still didn’t quite click.

"Should we put on porn?" I asked.

"Yeah. Like educational."

We queued up a video: two beefy guys going at it like champs. We tried to imitate what they did, but it wasn’t working. Mark kept slipping, I kept clenching.

"God, you fucking morons," said a voice from the door.

We both jumped.

Jayden leaned against the frame, arms crossed, smirking like he’d walked in on the world’s dumbest science experiment.

"We’re trying to figure out how to do anal," Mark said, his cock still resting against my ass.

"And failing," I added.

Jayden rolled his eyes. "Just watch another episode, dumbasses. Encore’s got your back."

Mark and I looked at each other. Then at the TV.

"You think there’s gonna be a how-to?" I asked.

Mark grinned. "Only one way to find out."

----------

The next episode started with a flashy montage and a voiceover that promised the hottest challenge yet. Contestants were split into four teams, each with a signature colour: Red, Blue, White, and Gold. The host appeared on-screen wearing a referee tank and compression shorts that left almost nothing to the imagination.

"Today's challenge," he announced, spinning a volleyball on one finger, "is the Encore Invitational Beach Volleyball Tournament!"

The players cheered, now grouped by colour and dressed in barely-there athletic gear that matched their team — red shorts and tanks, white speedos, blue jockstraps, and gold singlets with plunging sides.

The first match kicked off with wild energy. Gold team dominated the court early, shouting commands and flexing between plays. They grinned as they barked orders, their voices deep and sure, practically daring the others to challenge their authority. Every time a player from another team got too close to the net, someone in gold would spike the ball hard enough to send them stumbling back. You could feel the heat rolling off them — not just from the sun, but from their sheer confidence.

Across the court, white team threw themselves into every play like eager puppies. They yelped and laughed, dove for impossible saves, and lit up whenever someone cheered them on. After a hard point, one of them ran to the sidelines panting, only to melt under a back pat and a whispered "good boy." Even when they missed, they’d beam if a teammate lifted them up or tousled their hair. They weren’t playing to win — they were playing to please.

Red team strutted into their first match like they were already champions. They smacked each other’s asses, hyped themselves up with whoops and cocky grins, and threw in trick moves just to show off. But as the game heated up, their energy started to shift. On tight volleys, they'd pause, glance around, wait for someone — anyone — to tell them what to do. They wanted to lead, but they kept deferring, almost like their bravado was for show.

Blue team played hard. Every serve was a missile, every dig tight and sharp. But when they started losing points, they turned on each other — sharp words, narrowed eyes. One guy in blue shouted, "Get it together," and shoved another in the chest. But when a gold player jogged over to offer advice, the same guy softened, nodding eagerly, almost grateful to be corrected. Later, after a particularly rough rally, two blue players sat in the sand while a gold teammate towered over them, smirking. The blue players panted up at him.

The host winked at the camera. "You think you're just playing games? Baby, we're playing with identity."

The tournament got sweatier, dirtier, more charged. Hands lingered on sets. Hips bumped during serves. Chest bumps turned into full body presses. By the end, the scoreboard barely mattered. The teams were flirting more than they were playing.

Back in my apartment, we sat on the couch and chatted. Mark was flushed, practically squirming. The tournament had gotten under his skin. "That gold guy who kept barking orders? I want that energy," he muttered, eyes locked on the screen.

"You wanna join their team?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. They knew what they wanted. Took charge. Made everyone listen. I wanna feel like that."

I hesitated. My heart thudded against the cage on my cock. "The white team… they looked like they belonged, even when they messed up. Like they liked being told what to do. And the way that one guy melted when someone praised him—"

Mark gave me a look. "You totally wanna be on white."

I laughed nervously. "I kinda do."

When the at-home challenge began, the host's voice echoed from the screen.

"Now it's your turn. Embrace your team identity."

We both grabbed for our phones.  When I tapped on a cartoon of a jock in a white speedo, the screen animated and revealed words.  "VERS… SUB…" I sounded it out.

Mark moaned beside me. His muscles swelled. His face got dumber, hotter. When the light faded, he blinked and looked down at himself.

"Damn," he said, flexing. "I feel fuckin' good."

"You're definitely gold team now," I said, eyeing his thickening arms and that hungry smirk.

"Yeah," he bragged.  "I'm a Dom Top.  Fits me, right?"

He turned toward me, still shirtless from earlier, his new dom top aura radiating off him. "And you... white team, huh?"

I glanced down. The chastity cage on my cock had a soft glow to it. I touched the lock.

"I'm a vers sub," I told him.  "Heavy on the sub."

"Really?" Mark teased. "Vers, and you’ve got that thing on your cock?"

"It’s got a key," I pointed out.

Mark raised an eyebrow.

"So yeah," I said, grinning. "I can top… if Jayden's into it."

"We should probably practice," Mark laughed and pulled me into his lap.  "I got that Nate in a while."

Mark dropped me into the cushions. I landed on my back, legs sprawled, staring up at him. The glow from the app still shimmered faintly along the edges of his swollen biceps, like the light couldn’t quite leave him alone. His grin was cocky now — not the awkward smile he used to flash, but something heavy with confidence, weighted with need.

"You sure you’re ready for this?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Babe," he said, climbing on top of me. His thighs pinned mine in place as he leaned down, breath hot on my cheek. "I’m team gold. I was born ready."

My heart thudded, part nerves, part hunger. I could smell him — the masculine musk of someone who’d just spent hours pumping iron and loved what it did to his body. His chest hovered inches from mine, heavy pecs glistening, thick and round and begging to be touched.  A gold chain dangled from around his neck.

I reached up, ran my palms along the curve of his chest. He groaned.

"God, I love it when you do that," he said. "Like you worship them."

"I do."

He didn’t give me time to say more. He kissed me hard, mouth rough and greedy. One hand grabbed the back of my head and the other slid down my chest, across my abs, to the waistband of my jock. He growled when he felt the cage beneath.

"Still locked up?" he teased, tugging gently. "Fuck, that’s hot."

I whimpered as his fingers toyed with the latch. He lifted me up and flipped me over, grinding his cock — thick, hard, leaking — against the curve of my ass. His breath hitched as he moved, like the friction alone was getting him close.

"Tell me you want it," he said, voice low.

"I want it," I gasped. "I want you."

He growled again and spat in his palm, stroking himself once, twice. He lined up, pushed the head of his cock against my hole, and paused.

"You good?"

I nodded, legs spreading wider. "Yeah. Fuck me, Mark. Please."

He pushed in, slow but insistent, and I cried out — a mix of pain and pleasure that turned to just pleasure as my body adjusted. He filled me with each thrust, claiming me, owning me. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place while he fucked deeper, harder.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned.

I moaned back, eyes fluttering. My hands gripped the couch, grasping harder with every thrust. He leaned down over me, letting me feel the heat of his body while he pistoned his hips.

"Look at you," he breathed. "Such a good little sub. My perfect white team bitch."

I clenched around him at the words, nearly losing it right there.

"You like that?" he asked.

"Yeah," I gasped. "Say it again."

He grabbed both my wrists, pinned them over my head, and fucked me harder.

"You’re mine," he growled. "My dumb little bottom. Just here to get used."

I whimpered, cage throbbing. I could feel the pulse of my cock trying to break free, but it only made the whole thing hotter.

Mark didn’t let up. He fucked me through every moan, every gasp, until his rhythm faltered and he hissed through his teeth.

"Fuck… I’m gonna—"

"Do it," I begged. "Fill me."

He slammed forward one last time, body locking up as he came, thick and deep. I felt it spill inside me, hot and perfect.

When he collapsed on top of me, sweaty and panting. His weight was comforting. Heavy. Real.

"Okay babe," he slapped my ass and jumped off the couch.  "I'll see ya later… I got a date!"