Date: Wed, 25 Jun 2014 15:24:08 -0400 (EDT)
From: letsxplode@aol.com
Subject: The Shudden Chronicles 3: Gym Baggin'

Here's another addition to my Shudder Chronicles story, which you have
under Beginnings.  Use the author name Randy Rawman and the email
letsxplode@aol.com Thank you!


THE SHUDDER CHRONICLES Part 3: Gym Baggin'

We lie there together on the spooge-stained mattressfor a while, then
untangle ourselves and reluctantly slip back into ourclothes.  Before I
leave thebuilding, I turn around and look at the empty space and imagine it
full of sweaty,primal man-fuckers.  The thought ofit makes me throb, even
after I've dumped a huge load.

Angel walks me out to the parking lot.  "If you want some special gear to
wearto the party, I can go with you to shop for it," he says.

"Like what?"

"Chaps, a harness, a jock, some briefs with no ass,whatever you want," he
explains. "I get a discount.  I have afriend who works at a place."

"A friend?" I say, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, a friend," he says, "like you and I arefriends.  We hang out, we
have fun,we swap things...stories...recipes...spunk."

"Let's go in a couple of days," I say.  "I might not be able to walk
tomorrow."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," smirksAngel.  "Hold on, I got
somethingin my car I want to give to you."

As Angel runs to his car, it notice the denim aroundhis asscrack is darker
than the fabric surrounding it.  Could that be my fuckload?  Is my manseed
slowly leaking out ofhim?

"Here," he says, handing me a CD with no label.

"What's this?"

"You're probably going to want to work out extra hardbefore Shudder, not
that you're body's not hot as fuck as it is.  This is to help inspire you.
Load it into your iPod and listen to itas you work out," he advises
me. "You probably won't want to play it at any children's birthday
parties."

"Got it," I say.

"And don't—I repeat, don't--play it in your car on the way home," he
says.  "I want you to be in a gym full ofsweaty, pumped muscle fuckers when
you hear it for the first time."  Angel laughs, imagining themoment.  "Then
text and tell meabout it."

With that, he pushes me against my car and kissesme.  I can still taste cum
on hislips.  "You did good today, Randy,"he says sweetly.  "I can see it
inyour eyes.  You've changed; there'sa confidence there, a kind of
power. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," I say.  I'm proud of me, too, because I'm not just dreaming
itnow.  I'm living it.

On the drive home, I get stuck behind an accident butI'm too blissfully
worn out to care. To pass the time, I let some globs of cum seep out of my
ass, reach intomy sweats from the front, scoop it up and bring it to my
lips.  Each time I do this, my cock's a littleharder as my hand grazes past
it. If other drivers notice, I don't fucking care.

The next morning, I wake up and for a few minutes, I wonderif everything
that happened yesterday—the warehouse, the mattress, the
marathonflip-fuck cum-swap with Angel—was just a dirty dream.  But when
I rise to walk to the bathroom, the sweet, hard-earnedache in my asshole
says to me, "Ithappened, Randy.  You fucking didit.  It's real."

I dress for the gym in a royal blue fitted Nikedry-fit tank and black nylon
shorts that are cut a bit high to show off my cycler'squads.  I consider
going commando butafter what Angel said about the CD, I'm a little afraid
not to.

I load the disc Angel gave me into my Powerbook, thattrusty, gleaming
gadget that led me to my debauched destiny.  The CD has ten tracks on it:

1) Where Do You ThinkI Want You to Shoot It?  2) Drop It Deep 3) Fuel
Injected 4) Overflow / Lick It Up 5) Snowballer's Chance in Hell 6) (Riding
in on a) Carpet of Cum 7) How Many So Far?  8) Churn 9) Second Ring of
Heaven 10) Deep Seeded Need

I fight the temptation to listen and just transferthe tracks to my iPhone.
Idrive to the gym, check in and put my bag in a locker.  I slip my earbuds
in, check myappearance in the mirror—I look good. There's a swagger
there, I didn't have before.  From the back, I see my hard-earned V leading
down to myglutes, which seem extra perky today. Could my butt be more toned
from one breeding?


I step onto the treadmill and lift my right foot onthe sidebar, to stretch
my hamstring before I jog my two-mile warm up.  This stretch is another
not-so-gentlereminder that my asshole is still deliciously sore from Angel.
I press `Play,' and wait.

A warm synth pad fills my ears, then a tribaldrumbeat kicks in on top of
it. I'm thinking `Big deal, this isjust a typical dance track,' but then
the vocal track kicks in.  We're not talking Rihanna or Ke$ha or someother
dance diva of the moment. These vocals are pure testosterone.  It's men;
full-throated, deep-voiced men, who were clearlyrecorded while in the act
of fucking or getting fucked...or maybe fucking and getting fucked.  My
cock gets rockhard in my jock.  It's all so fucking loud and vulgar andhot
that I quickly scan the gym floor to make sure know one else can hear
it,that this is my little secret.

I switch legs and keep listening to the cacophony of gruntsand groans and
moans and sighs, all artfully edited and looped together to formrhythm
patterns and even melodies. Occasionally a word or phrase will pop out,
like, "In me, fucker, inme," "Breed it, baby," or "Where do you think I
want you to shoot it?" which isthe title of this particular track.

"What thefuck is on this CD?" I text Angel.

I'm into my second mile, my cock so hard in my jockit hurts, when Angel
texts me back. `Actual audio from Shudderparties.'

I imagine some hot teamster type running around thewarehouse with a boom
mic and a leaking dick hanging out of his cargo pants.

`Genius,' I text back. `Who put it together?'

`Oscar.'

`Who?'

`Bred me oncam for you.'

`Oh.  Man of many talents.'

Have yougotten to `How Many So Far?'  It'slike Beyonce's countdown song,
but w/ loads.  LOL.'

`Dick too hardto run.  Hope you're happy.'

I get off the treadmill and head to the free weightarea.  My dick stays
rock hardthrough my workout as the hits just keep on coming.  "Flood me,
fucker,flood me.  I feel it, I feel itshooting.  Beg for it, boy.  Beg.
For.  Seed."  Between sets of curls, I reach into myshorts and adjust my
dick, so it's pointing diagonally up.  The leaking head is nearly popping
outbut it's much more comfortable than the previous position.

A track or two later--as robotic stud voice says, "Sperm Me," over and over
in myears--I'm doing lat pulldowns when a tattooed Polynesian hunk in
head-to-toeUnderarmour flashes me a smile. I've seen this stud here before
but never interacting with him.  He's an avid swimmer and I've oftenenjoyed
watching him get out of the pool in his old school blue Adidas Speedoand
strut those granite butt cheeks to the locker room but he's always struckme
as straight or unavailable.  Butthat wasn't a very straight smile. Sperm me
sperm me sperm me spermme.

"What are you listening to?" he asks, between triceppush-downs.  "You seem
like you'rein another world."

"Is it that obvious?" I say.  He nods.  "It's a hot mix of some sexy dance
tracks a friend of mineput together.  Very unique,one-of-a-kind kind of
stuff."

"You know Oscar," he says, with a grin.  He tilts his head down and stares
intomy eyes, while his bulging tris contract and release.

Oh shit, I think, we'regonna fuck.  I know it...rightthen.  It's fucking
on.  I'm going to be one of those guys I've always heard aboutand envied,
those guys who fuck and breed at the gym.  Who knows?  Imay have to start
allotting extra time into my workouts for buttfucking.  I'm sure this kind
of thing happens toAngel and his posse all the time, but it's excitingly
novel to me.  A hungry smile, a loaded look andfew carefully selected words
are uttered and bam, it's fucktime.

"Well, actually, I haven't met Oscar, face to face,"I say, straddling the
bench for another set of pull-downs, "but a friend ofmine is a good friend
of his so you know..."

"There's some kind of DNA connection there," he says.

"Bingo," I say. When I stand up from the bench, I feel cool air on my
cockhead but I'mnot sure if it's real and my dick's popping out or in my
mind because I'm soboned.  I'm afraid to look so Ijust walk over to the guy
and offer him my gloved hand.  "I'm Randy," I say.

"Bryan," he says, taking my hand in his and giving ita long
leather-to-leather squeeze, "with a Y."

"You've heard Oscar's mixes, I take it?"

"Actually, no," says Bryan.  "But I've heard ofOscar's mixes.  I've always
wantedto check them out."

"Come do crunches with me in the aerobics studio.  You can have one earbud,
I'll have theother."

"God, that's so intimate," he says, with a laugh.

"I know," I say.

We walk together to the aerobics room and sit on thefloor facing the
mirror.  I put oneearbud up to his right ear.  "I'mgoing in, okay?" I
whisper.

"Please," he says.

I insert his earbud, then put the other in my leftear.  "We have to stay
closetogether," I say.

"Okay," he says.

I scroll through the titles I haven't heard yet andpick "Churn."  Side by
side, Bryanand I do work our ab muscles and listen to a slow burn of a jam,
like if Sadehad a cock.  It features arecurring sample of what sounds like
a wet, sloppy used asshole getting reamedfor the umpteenth time.  That's
probablyexactly what that is.

Turned on beyond words, we pour our libidos into ourworkouts and try to out
sweat each other, matching each crunch to the beat asthe track reaches it's
bellowing climax with a chorus of deep-voiced studschanting, "Seed him!
Seed him! Seed him!Seed him! Seed him! Seed him!" and then a lucky top
groaning, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkk!"

We fall back onto our backs and look up at theceiling, which has a mirror
on it that I've never noticed before.

"Oh my God," I gasp.

"I think I was actually at that party," remarks Bryan.  "I think I was was
one of the chanting guys.  I don't know whether I should sue or
beflattered."

My eyes are glued to Bryan's crotch in themirror.  His Underarmour
tightslook like they're about to burst.  Fuck, he's packing.  He does a
series of small pelvic pumps,like a jackhammer then turns his head to face
me.

"Go move that curtain to the right," he says,gesturing with his dimpled
chin to a long piece of fabric that covers one ofthe side walls.  "I would
but Ican't get up.  You know why."

"You think I can?" I ask.

"At least you have regular shorts," he says.  "If I stand up, I could be
arrested forpublic indecency."

I jump up and pull the curtain to reveal a door I'd neverknown was there.

"See if it's open," he says.

I do and it is. I look inside and discover a storeroom used for yoga mats,
blocks,steps, etc.  I look back and raisemy eyebrows.

"There's a class in here in ten minutes," hesays.  "If we go in, we can't
comeout for at least an hour."

I think about the conference call I have for work in45 minutes.  Screw it.

"I don't have anywhere to be," I say.  "Except in those tights."

In one fluid movement, Bryan rises and darts into thestoreroom, pulling me
in with him and closing the door behind us.

"Come over here," he says, leading me to the cornerwhere two stacks of
plastic, shoulder-height step-aerobics steps form a barricadebetween the
back wall and the door we entered through.  He pulls me behind them, brings
us bothdown to our knees and smiles. "Hey, fucker."

"Hey," I say. "But what if the next class is a step class and they take our
wall away?"

"It's yoga."

"You really know all the ins and outs around here," Iremark.

"I used to teach spinning here," he says.

"Explains the ass," I say.

I reach around and put my hand on his Spandex coveredass.  He gently moves
it up to hislower back.  "Just kiss me for awhile," he says.  "Onlykiss."

"Why?" I ask.

"You'll see."

Just then, the door opens and I hear the voice of twowomen; one I assume to
be the instructor and the other, a student.  They make small talk and grab
mats fromthe stack that's just in front of our wall of steps.  All the
while, Bryan and I kiss soft and gentle, not noisy,for obvious reasons.
More yogiscome in and grab mats.  Morekissing, our crotch bulges gently
brushing against each other, back and forth.

Finally, some New Age-y music kicks in and we hearthe class start.  Bryan
pulls my shortsand jock down.  My raging hard-onpops up and smacks my
stomach.  Justthen, the door opens again.  We duckdown and freeze.  A
last-minutestudent grabs a mat, runs out and closes the door behind her.
"Fucking latecomers," I whisper.

Bryan looks down at my rock hard cock.  He taps his index finger on my
leaking dickhead,then pulls it to his mouth.  It connectsin one long strand
then snaps.  Hekisses me and I can taste my pre-cum. He pulls my shorts
back up but pulls my dick off to the side of my jockthen stands back to
look at me.  "Ihave a gym gear fetish," he whispers, "and I've been
wondering what your prettycock would look like up against that silky nylon
with no jock.  Fuck, that's nice," he says.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer," I say, willing mydick to bob up and down
in my shorts.

"Fine," Bryan says, before grabbing my iPhone,snapping a few pics of me
with my gym shorts hard-on, and a few with my cockfully out.

"My face showing?"

"Yeah," he says.  "That a problem?"

I've taken naked pictures of myself before, a few, butnever with the face
showing.

"It's not a problem," I say.

"Truebreeding fuckstuds are totally unapologetic," I remember Angel saying
to me yesterday during theafterglow on that cum-matted mattress. "They
don't care if people thinkthey're reckless whores because they know that
deep down inside, everyonewishes that they could be that kind of free."

Bryan puts my iPhone down and goes down on my knob inone gulp.  I stifle a
moan.  The yoga music isn't nearly loud enoughto drown out the kind of
sounds I want to make.  Bryan pulls his head off my cock, stands up and
kisses me,deep and wet.  I turn him aroundand grind my cock against his
nylon-clad ass, caressing those pumped pecsbeneath that skintight red
Underarmour shirt.  Fuck, they feel hot. I start to inch my hand around his
waist to feel his amazing bulge.  I touch cock way before I'm expectingto
as it's snaking halfway around his waist like a belt.

"Holy shit," I say.

"Shhhh," he says, laughing.

When I crouch down to inspect his ass, I feel thesoreness of my own ass.
God,that's incredible, experiencing a physical reminder of a recent
red-hotfuckfest just as you're about to embark on another one.  I realize
in that moment that life isabout fucking--breeding and getting bred--and
everything else that happens tous is just window dressing.

I rub my hands all over his glorious nylon clad ass,then peel his tights
down to reveal his rock hard globes.  I spread them apart with my hands,
thendive right onto his hole, tongue first. God, he tastes good, clean and
warm and sweaty.  I can tell me wants to shout all mannerof indecencies at
me, but instead he just breathes.  I stand up and press my fuckstick into
his crack.  "I want in," I breathe, then think, `Angel would be soooo proud
of me.'

"I want you in," he replies.  "Give me a sec."  He skitters across the
room, tightsaround his knees to the First Aid kit on the wall, digs behind
a box ofBand-Aids and produces a small tube of Wet.  "From when I used to
work here," he explains.  "It's kind of old but who cares?"

"Not me," I say.

Bryan gets my dick ready, being mindful not to use upall the lube.  I'm
guessing hewants us to flip but damn, my ass is sore.  He removes the top
few rows of steps so he can lay flat onthe stack.  I aim my cock at
hissweet ass, touch the tip to his hole, then pause.

"Hold on," I say.  "Were there any rubbers stashed in there?"

"I didn't see any," he says, with a boyish shrug.

"Oh well," I say, then go balls deep in one long,slow stroke.

Bryan lets out the loudest sound either of us hasmade since we entered the
room, but it's still not loud enough to be heard overthe Enya playing in
the next room. At least, I hope it's not. It doesn't take him long to get
used to my dick.  After a few slow strokes in and out, Ibury it all the way
in then slowly wiggle my hips back and forth, exploringevery inch of his
fuck chute.

"God, you feel good," he whispers.  "Pound me."

I do just that, in long deliberate strokes, buildingup steam and then
pulling back when I feel my balls start to pull up.  Then when the need to
seed dies down, Igo back at it.  I'm honing my skillswith every fuck, I
think.  The mixof having control during sex and losing control during sex,
the dance of that,is incredibly exciting to me.  Iwant to be the kind of
fucker who can masterfully take a partner and myself tothe edge and over
it—conscious of every stroke and caress—and also someone whois
constantly surprised by new sensations and savage mindfucks.  I want to
develop mad-skills as a cocksmanand still get taken to other worlds by a
great fuck.

After a solid few minutes of pounding, Bryan standsup, arches back and
whispers, "You're about to fuck the cum out of me and allover this
equipment."

"And the problem with that is?" I whisper back.

"It's not where I want it to go," he says.

He wants to breed me, too.  I had a feeling he wanted to.  That's what I
want, too.  My ass is still so tender from yesterday but man, this studis
beautiful and I really want his fuckload.  Besides, when I recount this
story to Angel and say, "Yeah,he wanted to breed me, too, but then I
pussied out," it would not go over wellat all.

"I was hoping you'd say that," I say, pushing inballs deep again.  "So take
yourhands off your cock so you don't shoot. I'm going to pound till I breed
and then you're going to knock me up,too."

"Do it," he says, laying his sweaty, humpy pecs downon the steps.

Bam, bam,bam, bam.  The only sounds in the room are the slapping of
mychurning balls on his ass, our breathing and the Middle-Eastern flavored
musiccoming from the class outside.  Bam, bam, bam, bam.  I feel my nut
coming on...less than tenbams from now.  Oh, fuck, make thatfive.  "Take
it," I say, so faintlythat I'm not sure Bryan can even hear me. "Take my
flood of cum."

I collapse down on top of his back, our sweat soakednylon tops rubbing
together.

"It felt like about seven jets," I whisper to Bryan,my mouth right next to
his ear. "How many did you feel?"

He turns his head so we're nose to nose, looking intoeach other's eyes.
"Fifty," hesays.  "Now it's your turn."

"I want to be on my back," I say.  "I want to look up at your
hotchest...your sexy fucking face."

"Well, there's one mat left," he remarks.  "How convenient."

I pull off my shorts and jock, lie down on the lastyoga mat and lift my
legs in the air. Bryan pulls the front of his tight tank over his head, so
it's stretchedacross his broad shoulders.  Hissmall brown nipples jut out
from the mountains of his pecs.  God, what a man.  He pulls his tights up,
so his cock isout but his ass is covered in spandex and looks down at me.
"We got fifteen minutes, tops," hesays.  "You want me to eat you orjust
fuck?"

"Just fuck," I say.

"I think that's for the best," he says.  "I just got back from a trip with
my sister,where we shared a room.  Noprivacy.  I haven't unloaded in
aweek."

"Oh fuck," I sigh, imagining the monster load I'm goingto be walking out of
here with.

Bryan grabs my iPhone, tosses one earbud at my faceand puts the other in
his ear. "We might not be able to be loud," he whispers,"but they can."

I stick my ear bud in.  He places the phone on my abs and presses play.
The final 10-minutes track of Oscar's megamixkicks in: "Deep Seeded Need"
just as Bryan shoves his cock in me.  A stud growling, "Seed me, I need
it," in a gravelly voice is sampled and replayedover and over.  It becomes
like amantra as Bryan fucks me, carefully to never pull too far away so as
not todisconnect us from the music.  Heleans down and shoves his tongue in
my throat as the track builds.  Seedme, I need it. Seed me, I need it. Seed
me, I need it.  When a fucker on the track warns,"You're gonna get it,
boy!"  Bryanpulls back, nods his head up and down frantically, then hammers
his 7-day jizzloadstraight into my guts, every rope seeming to spray out on
the downbeat.

A warmth spreads all over my insides, but I'm notsure if it's literal or
just in my mind. I've read other barebackers online describing the
"jizzjoy" that comeswith being a breeding hole.  Now Iknow what they're
talking about. Bryan's cum-shudder seems to go on for minutes.  If we had
fifteen minutes for thatfuck, it's like he knew to allot five for his
orgasm.

While watching him twitch and convulse, I understandsomething else about
the Shudder philosophy.  The men of this tribe know how to truly savor
thebreed.  They make a show of it forwhoever's lucky enough to be on the
receiving end of your load or in the room cheeringyou on or on the other
end of that webcam with their own spurting dick in theirhand.  The party's
called Shudderso if you want to cum quietly, without making a spectacle of
yourself, well, you'vegot the wrong party.

The feeling of Bryan's cummy cock snaking out of meis pure fucking heaven.
Cumscentpermeates the room.  I could smellmy load when I was getting
fucked, but I thought it might have just been in mymind, part of the whole
fuck frenzy. Now that we've both inseminated and we're back on earth, the
smell isundeniable.  "Smells likefuckloads," Bryan says, taking a big,
sweet whiff.

"Yeah," I say. "About fifty of them."

At the same time, we both realize that it's gone silentin the yoga room.
"Oh no," Iwhisper.  Then we hear a chorus of"Namastes" followed by some
light applause for the teacher.  "Shit," Bryan says.  His cock bounces
against his thighsleaving cum streaks as we scramble to get the steps
stacked back up and thendisappear behind them.  The door opensjust as we
duck down.  The classmembers stream in to dump their yoga mats.  I notice a
cum drop catch the light on our fuckmat justbefore the first class member's
mat plops down on top of it.  I'm relieved it doesn't make asquelching
sound.

As Bryan and I wait for the parade of yogis to end,we finger each other's
cum-slick assholes, lick our fingers, kiss each otherand wallow in our own
cumneed.

"That class was really special for some reason," oneof the students says to
the teacher. "There was a connectedness to it, a real fluidity."

`We've got yourfluidity right here,' I think to myself and smile at Bryan.

"Thanks, Tami," says the teacher, before shutting offthe light.  The last
thing she saysbefore shutting the door and leaving the studio is, "Does it
smell like bleachin here to you?"

Bryan and I cover each other's cum-slick mouths tokeep from cracking up.  I
lean backon the wall just so I can watch him pull all that Lycra back over
himself.  He's not the only one with a gym gearfetish.  I'm sure his
cockhead isgoing to leave a cumstain on the front of his tights.  Bryan
knows that, too, and he doesn't care.

The pride, the exhibitionism, the flaunting of one'ssexual needs and
desires is something that sets the Shudder crowd apart.  They just fucking
own it.  I'm sure if the DMV let them, they'dall have customized license
plates: "SPUNKSWAP," "CUMMMMNME," "JIZZTKR, "NVRWRAP'D."

And I'm on my way to being one of them.

TO BE CONTINUED