Copyright by Marathon Brad, 2026, permission given to Gay Damon to reprint this story. It may not be copied to another website without prior approval from the author.
Please feel free to share your comments, thoughts and/or ideas with me at [email protected]
The Chosen Jock: Office Boy
Chapter 11
When I came home to my Hyde Park apartment after my first day at the Milk Me Company, Jai waved me over from behind the concierge desk. He has dark hair, early forties, always sharp in his suit, and his smile catches me every time. His jackets always fit perfectly across his chest and arms, reminding me that he is a strong athlete under the polished look. How could I ever forget the way Jai’s body felt that first evening I arrived in Sydney, when he made sure I understood exactly how welcome I was in my new apartment?
On his desk sat a small package, wrapped neatly with paper and tied with a ribbon. Jai slid it toward me, his eyes glinting like he already knew the secret.
“For you, mate,” he said in his Australian accent with a sexy smile.
My heart fluttered as I untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside were two pieces of clothing. They dropped onto the desk, landing only inches from Jai’s hand. He picked them up, holding each one of them high like he was inspecting something expensive.
The first was a pair of neon yellow shorts. He held them by the waistband, turning them in the light. The inseam was tiny, the waistband low enough that it would surely show some of my pubic hair. The fabric was thin, almost see-through, the side slit running all the way up. Jai let out a low whistle.
The second piece was a bright royal blue crop top, sleeveless, with a hem that would stop above my abs. Jai’s eyes flicked from the shirt to my chest, and his smile widened.
There was a card, too: “We enjoyed working out with you this morning and thought a welcome gift for the building’s new American guy would be appropriate. We would love to see you in this outfit the next time you train. Fondly, Carl and Luke.”
“Now this is one workout session I would enjoy seeing,” Jai said softly, placing the outfit back on the desk.
I felt my cheeks blush as I gathered the clothes and turned toward the elevator.
“Oh, expect a text later with what Mike wants you to wear to the office tomorrow,” he added.
I mumbled a quiet thank-you, embarrassed. Even as I stepped away, I could feel Jai’s eyes following me, like he was already picturing me in the outfit.
The next morning the alarm rang at 4:30. I wanted extra time in the gym before work.
I slid the crop top over my head. It clung right away, pressing across my pecs and stopping a few inches above my abs.
Then the shorts. They were soft, sliding up my legs until they hugged my waist. The leg openings were wide, leaving me bare from almost every angle. The low waistband, as I had thought, left the edge of my pubic hair exposed. Being a wrestler, I was use to not wearing a jock under my shorts. My cock swung under the lightweight, thin fabric.
I caught a glimpse in my bedroom’s mirror. My thighs looked strong, my muscular wrestling ass pushed out, my cock outlined easily. My face turned red. I grabbed my water and rushed for the elevator before I talked myself out of wearing my new gift.
The air-conditioning in the hallway was chilly against my exposed skin.
When I stepped into the elevator, I was met by the sight of the night security man. His navy suit fit him well, and a gold tie added a sharp touch. Like many Australians I had met, he had blond hair and bright blue eyes. He gave me a polite nod. “How are you this morning, Mr. Brad?” he asked in a calm, deep voice.
I froze. I wondered how he already knew my name. “Fine,” I answered softly. We traded a little small talk, but my eyes caught the mirror behind him. My cock and balls were easily noticed through the transparent shorts. When I shifted, the bottom curve of my strong bubble butt peeked out. My chest tightened a bit as I was nervous to be on full display for the attractive man.
After the elevator doors opened onto the gym floor, he stepped forward and introduced himself. “I am Max,” he said, giving me a firm handshake. Even through his suit, I could tell he was built solid—broad chest, firm thighs, the kind of body that came from training. His confidence made me blush, and for a second, I forgot to let go of his hand. There was something about him—calm, sure, and quietly in control—that made me feel both safe and nervous. Max offered to walk me to the gym, open the door, and make sure all the equipment was ready for me.
He tapped his fob and pushed the door open, motioning for me to step inside first. The lights flickered on, casting a soft glow over the rows of machines and weights. I thanked him, trying to sound poised, but my voice came out a little shaky. Max smiled, like he noticed, and said he would stick around to be sure everything worked.
Inside the gym, the mirrors showed everything I was already nervous about. My small outfit was hardly clothing. The two guys who watched me workout yesterday had thought that this gear would look fine on me, but I still was not sure. I kept wondering if Max saw me the same way they had, noticing things I did not mean to show. Did he think I looked strong, like a real athlete? Or did he just notice how skimpy the gear was and how little it left to the imagination? My chest tightened when he gave a smirk. “That is a risky little outfit, Brad—not much left to hide in that, huh?” I swallowed hard, my face blushing, not sure if he was teasing or paying me a compliment. Either way, it made me feel even more exposed, almost like a slut.
Still, I was amazed at how friendly everyone in the building seemed to be with me. Even teasing somehow felt like a welcome. Max, especially, seemed pleased that I was living there. He told me with a grin that he worked as a trainer at a nearby neighborhood gym and sometimes offered personal training to residents in my building. The way he said it, though, made it feel like more than a casual offer, his eyes running over me again as if to imagine what that training might look like.
As I started to stretch, I could feel his eyes on me. It was not uncomfortable—just different, like he was quietly studying how my muscles from years of training as a college wrestler moved. I bent forward to touch my toes, glancing at him in the mirror. He was leaning against the equipment, arms crossed, dressed neatly in his suit and looking every bit the athlete himself. His eyes followed each of my stretches with a hint of that smirk, again. I tried to focus on my warm-up, hoping I looked like I knew what I was doing.
“You know,” Max added, leaning a little closer, “if you are okay with the idea, I could put you through one of my quick training sessions right now. Nothing heavy, just enough to get a feel for where you are at.” His smile widened, almost playful. “Your gear is already perfect for it.”
I hesitated, my stomach tightening. I was not sure if I looked good enough or if I would embarrass myself, but part of me wanted to prove I could handle Max’s workout. I gave a quick nod, shy but eager. “Okay… if you think I am ready.”
“First, although you stretch like someone who has trained before,” he said, voice calm but friendly, “Mind if I help you with your form?”
I nodded, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. He showed me how to keep my feet straight and to lower my shoulders. His hand hovered near my back to guide me—just close enough that I could feel the warmth of it.
“Better,” he said with a small smile. “That keeps you from straining your legs.”
I breathed out, relieved that I had done it right. My heart was still racing a little, though, mostly because of how very responsive he was being.
“Take a few more slow breaths,” Max said, stepping back toward the mirrors. “You will loosen up faster that way.”
I followed his advice, stretching some more, while he watched. It felt nice finding a trainer here in Sydney who knew what he was doing and helping me feel welcome at the same time.
“Let’s continue with something else that is simple. Show me some squats, sport,” he said with that same grin. He crouched low behind me, placing his hand on the floor where he wanted me to aim.
I squatted down, heart thumping. My skimpy shorts rode higher with every rep, the thin fabric brushing against Max’s waiting hand. At first it felt like an accident, just a graze against my thigh, but soon his fingers slipped past the hem of the fabric, brushing my bare skin inside the leg opening.
Each time I lowered, his hand stayed put, sliding deeper, bolder, until his fingers roamed higher—tracing my inner thigh, brushing the curve of my glutes, pressing up against my hole. I gasped, but I did not move. I wanted to show him I could do a perfect squat, that I could hold steady.
“Watch yourself in the mirror,” he told me.
I obeyed, dropping deeper. The reflection made my chest tighten—my thighs spread wide, my shorts clinging so tight that nothing was hidden. Eventually, Max slid multiple fingers up near my hole causing my cock to swell fast—leaking precum down my thigh.
Max’s other hand pressed against my shoulder, adjusting me to be straighter as if he was testing my upper strength. “Good boy,” Max said calmly, his tone approving but edged with something more. “Strong legs, broad chest. You have got the kind of young man’s frame worth showing off.”
As I remained crouched, Max’s hand remained inside my shorts continuing to move freely, slow and deliberate. I felt like he was exploring and memorizing every inch of me. My face became red in the mirror, shy I felt so exposed.
By about the seventh squat, I was shaking all over.
“Now hold it,” he whispered.
I froze, muscles screaming, chest rising fast.
“You do not even realize it, do you?” he whispered. “How you look right now—young and strong. Most of my trainees would have given up already. Not you.”
A soft moan slipped from me as his hand remained, steady, keeping me locked in place. Every inch of me felt possessed under his touch. All I could think about was holding for him, being his good boy.
At last, however, Max pulled his hand free and told me to stand. My legs wobbled as I straightened.
Max led me to the chest pulley station, my cock pressing hard against my shorts, the outline obvious. Max came in close—first at my side, then right behind me—his hands sliding just above my waistband, warm against bare skin. His breath brushed my neck, his cologne heavy and manly, sealing me in the moment.
“Grab the handles,” Max said, his voice calm but firm. I obeyed, wrapping my hands around the grips. He slid his strong hands over mine, showing me how to pull. “Slow. That’s it. Look in the mirror.”
I pulled, my chest and ab muscles stretching tight. Max’s reflection filled the glass behind me—broad-chested, arms thick and flexed under his jacket. My cock continued to swell hard at the sight.
“Again,” he said, his chest pressing into my back as he lifted my elbows. “Good. That crop top shows your abs. Looks nice on you.”
I pulled again, slower this time. His hands supported my arms. “Perfect form. Strong arms. You sure do look like that American Wrestling Champion that Jai told me you were,” Max said, eyes locked on mine in the mirror.
Another rep. Max’s eyes dropped to my noticeable outlined hard cock, then back up. “Those shorts do not hide a thing,” he said with a flirtation grin. “Shows off your legs and glutes. You should be proud of that.”
I gasped as his hand slid under the lower part of my crop top. His fingers reaching up to brush my nipple while I kept pulling. “You are being such a good boy. Hold it there. Feel that chest working.” My breathing grew faster as I obeyed the handsome man.
“Now slower,” Max said as I dragged the cables back across my chest. His other hand slipped down the back of my shorts, gripping my ass firm. “That’s it. Broad chest, tight waist, thick thighs. You look every bit the athlete.”
Rep after rep, he stayed close, his voice steady:
“Strong pull. That’s your wrestler’s power right there.”
“Look at those arms flex. Perfect.”
“Your chest pops in that top. Made for you.”
“Good stance. Those legs are built solid.”
“Again. Show me more.”
“Hold it. Don’t rush. That’s better.”
“Look in the mirror—see how good you look?”
“Every guy in this building would stare if they saw you now.”
“Keep going. I want all of it.”
Each time he spoke, his touch matched his words. His hand guided my arms. His chest pressed into my back. His grip on my ass held me steady. My body was not just working—it was being felt, shaped, shown off.
By the time he whispered, “One more rep,” I was gone. My chest heaved, my cock strained, my skin flared with lust. In the mirror, I saw myself—muscles flexed, outfit barely there, body displayed. And behind me, Max stood strong, proud, and handsome, owning every move I made.
My light moans came quicker. My tongue hung loose, moisture collecting on my lips. The workout had become Max’s workout. I was his youngster to command, his athlete to show off.
Max had stayed in his sharp suit, but at last he gave a small, friendly grin. “Mind if I lose the jacket and tie as I feel so overdressed compared to what you are wearing for this workout.”
I nodded. He slipped off the jacket and loosened the tie, folding them neatly on a bench. Then he undid the top three buttons of his shirt and rolled his sleeves to his forearms. The gesture showed a broad, strong chest with blond hair that caught the overhead light. For a moment I just watched him—confident and dreamy to look at.
“Better,” he said softly, stepping closer until I could feel his warm breath on my neck. His hands moved with slow confidence—one slipping down inside the back of my waistband, fingers pressing into the curve of my glutes, tracing the line between them like he was learning every inch. The other hand slid up beneath my crop top, brushing across my chest in a way that made me lightly moan. His touch felt deliberate, like he was admiring what he found.
“Focus on the mirror,” he told me.
I obeyed, watching myself pull and strain with each rep. My cock stretching the thin shorts, wet at the tip. For the next few minutes, Max guided me through repetition after repetition, his touch never leaving—hands exploring, holding, testing my reaction. My moans continued to slip out without control, mouth staying open, saliva wetting my lips. The mirror showed everything: me working, trembling, displayed, Max calmly shaping me with his hands.
That’s when the door opened.
Two men stepped inside—the same ones from yesterday. This time they came straight over, smiles wide, eyes locked on me. They stopped dead in their tracks, grins spreading as they saw not only the outfit they had given me, but the state I exhibited under Max’s hands.
I froze, too shy to turn. My face flushed as I realized they could see everything—the outline of my erect hard cock, the sweat down my chest, even the bottom curve of my ass peeking through the slit of the shorts.
Max did not step back. He stood tall behind me, one hand still resting at my waist as if to claim me. “Gentlemen, great to see this morning” he said, smirking.
One man was built through the shoulders and arms, a rugby build. “Name’s Carl,” he said to me.
The other was leaner, abs cut sharp, dark stubble along his jaw. His eyes never left the bulge in my shorts. “Luke,” he said.
Carl’s smile widened. “It is great to see once more our young, very handsome American man that has moved into the apartment building. We had heard about your arrival for several weeks from Jai. He enjoyed bragging about how fit you were and that you were coming from Philadelphia. After seeing how dedicated you were with your body yesterday, we thought we would find a gift for you. You were pretty intense with your workout and we hope we did not disturb you too much. However, this morning we are glad to see you made it back to the gym. Also, we are not surprised to find Max assisting you.”
Max grinned and finally eased his hand from my waist, though he stayed close behind me. He gave a small nod. “Indeed, Brad is quite the new charm in the building. Strong as they come.”
Luke chuckled, eyes still roaming over me. “The gear looks even better on you than we thought. Yes, no wonder Max cannot keep his hands off.”
Max continued to smirk but said nothing, stepping slightly aside as if to let them take me in.
Carl’s eyes swept down my body. “Jai said you wrestled. Said you would make the gym look good.”
I stammered a thank-you, my voice weak. “Everyone has been so nice since I arrived.”
Max laughed softly. “Nice, sure. But they are right—you were made for this. Look at you. Even better than Jai advertised.”
They encouraged Max to keep going, saying I probably needed to finish my work out before heading to the office. Max nodded. “Bench press,” he said, guiding me over. “Lie back, sport.”
I lowered myself onto the padded bench, crop top riding high, shorts tented by my bulge. Max stood above me, his crotch level with my face. “Spread your legs more.”
I did as I was told. My shorts’ leg openings gaped wider, my balls slipping free.
Carl stepped closer. His eyes fixed between my legs.
Luke moved to my other side. “Feet flat,” he said, placing a hand on my shin. He guided my leg outward a little more, his fingers trailing my inner thigh before he let go.
My chest rose fast. I could not look at the them.
“Let’s take off your top, Brad.” Max commanded. He wasted no time, gripping the hem and pulling it over my head—tossing it aside. My chest was bare now, nipples stiff in the cool air.
Carl whistled. “Strong chest,” he said, brushing his knuckles across my pec.
Luke gave a low laugh, pressing his palm into my abs, holding it there. “No wonder Jai bragged. This boy was worth the wait.”
Max’s hands tightened gently on top of my shoulders. “We all are happy that Brad is living here. He is our boy now.”
I moaned softly, my lips parted as I stayed stretched and helpless under their hands. Certainly, I wanted to be their good boy, their athlete to handle, their newest prize.
For a long moment, none of us moved. Just their eyes on me, their hands steady, their words lingering.
Max finally allowed me to ease back onto the bench after taking off my shirt, his palm sliding down my chest.
He placed the bar in my hands. “Lift.”
I pressed up, arms shaking. Carl and Luke spotting me like teammates. Their eyes never left my body.
“Good boy,” Carl whispered, steadying the bar with one hand, his other brushing my thigh. “Keep pushing.”
Luke leaned down until his face was near mine. “Breathe through it, mate,” he said, his hand sliding higher up my leg. The shorts shifted, gaping wider. Three men around me.
“You are one beautiful athlete, Brad,” Max said, his voice low but full of pride.
Before I could even say anything, Carl clapped his hands once. “He will need a proper cool-down after bench pressing.”
Luke smirked. “Yeah, no point in a workout if he does not stretch it out right.”
Max nodded, his eyes still on me. “Mat, Brad. Lie on your back.”
I swallowed as I slid down onto the padded floor. The mirror still caught every angle—me sprawled in the skimpy shorts, chest wet with sweat, lungs heaving. My cock pressed hard, yearning to be touched as the wet spot grew more prominent on the thin fabric.
Carl dropped to one knee by my side. “Arms first,” he said, lifting one over my head and pressing gently into my shoulder. His palm lingered as he guided me, his touch more caress than correction.
Luke crouched by my legs. “Spread them wider,” he said, pulling one leg out until the shorts rode dangerously high. His hand slid along my inner thigh, holding it there. “That’s better.”
I blushed, staring up at the ceiling, but Max’s voice kept me focused. “Stay still, Brad. Let them handle you.”
Carl adjusted my other arm, brushing across my chest as he did. “Solid build,” he said with a grin. “Feels compact here.” His fingers grazed my nipple and lingered just a second too long.
Luke leaned closer, running his hand along my quad. “Legs like this do not come easy. Years of training as a college wrestler. Squats, right?”
I nodded weakly. “College wrestling… yeah.”
Carl chuckled. “A wrestler’s body is always my favorite.”
Max knelt near my head, his hand sliding under my neck, lifting me slightly so I had to look at the mirror again. “See yourself, Brad,” he said. “Look how good you look being worked over.”
My reflection continued to show me stretched wide—Carl holding my arms, Luke guiding my legs apart, Max at my head controlling where I looked. My body trembled, muscles flexed, cock begging to escape out of my skimpy shorts.
Carl and Luke nodded, still smiling, still staring. The mirror caught it all as I lay there panting—their voices echoing in my head. I knew I would never forget how it felt to be stretched wide under their control, shown off like I was theirs.
I blinked, cheeks flushed, trying to steady my breath. “I should probably get cleaned up… I do not want to be late my first week,” I said softly.
Max squeezed my shoulder once, grounding me. “Of course.”
I stood, still trembling, and gave Carl and Luke small hugs. “Thank you… for the gear,” I managed to say.
“Make it your regular look in our building’s gym,” Carl said with a grin. “This place will get a lot more use if the other men knew you are training here in that outfit.”
I was not sure what that meant, but nodded anyway. “I will… try to keep it smelling fresh,” I said.
They both laughed as Max offered to take me back to my apartment—his jacket, tie and my crop top tucked under his arm.
In the hallway, I glanced back over my shoulder. Carl and Luke had stepped just outside the gym, leaning casually against the door frame, their eyes still on me. They did not bother to hide their stares as they watched me leave in nothing but my shorts.
Carl called out, voice playful: “Take good care of him, Max.”
Luke added with a smirk, “And next time, Brad, do not hold back—we like seeing you sweat during your work out.”
Their words etched in my head as the elevator doors slid close, leaving me red-faced, cock still hard. Max did not say a word. He just kept his free hand firm on my shoulder, a touch that felt both protective and possessive, as if to remind me that I was under his care. The silence made me wonder if he was proud to be parading me this way.
When the elevator door opened on my floor, Max let me step out first. I led the way down the hallway, my shorts riding higher with each stride. I knew his eyes were locked on me, on my ass, on the sweat still shining on my thighs. A neighbor’s door opened ahead. He paused mid-step, staring outright before slipping back inside. Max gave a nod as he grinned.
At my apartment door, my fob fumbled nervously in my hand. Max leaned close, his breath warm on my neck. “Easy,” he whispered. His voice was calm like he knew I would open the door for him no matter how shaky my hands were.
The moment we stepped inside, I could still feel it—the heated tension in the gym remained with us. Max did not rush; he took his time. He placed the crop top, jacket and tie on the counter and motioned for me to stand in the open space by the sofa. “Better lighting here,” he said quietly, as if he was still treating me like the mirror—something to be admired, displayed, and used.
I stood frozen for a moment, chest rising fast, still hearing Carl’s words in my head: Take good care of him, Max.
That is when Max closed the space between us and kissed me deep. His hands slid down over my bare skin, his fingers slipping inside the waistband of my shorts to grip the curve of my glutes. The instant he touched me; my whole body trembled with need. I realized how much I had been lusting for this moment since I met this attractive athletic man on the way down to the gym—how much I wanted his hands roaming me, claiming me. I loved being with other jocks.
He tugged at the waistband. “Lose the sexy shorts,” he whispered, his lips brushing mine.
I obeyed without thinking, squirming out of them until they dropped to the floor. I stood naked in his arms, needy, my cock hard and dripping. Max did not hesitate—he slowly led me to the sofa and bent me over, his hands spreading me open, his mouth quickly rimming my moist hole.
I moaned, louder than I meant to, the sound ringing in my apartment.
Max unzipped his pants and freed his cock. His voice dropped low, warm against my ear. “You are one beautiful sport, Brad,” he whispered. The way he said it made my stomach flutter. Every move he made felt slow and sure, full of a trainer’s strength. His touch lingered on my shoulders and down my back as if he was memorizing me. Not wasting anymore time, Max slid inside me—slow but deep.
He drew me close until I could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing and slow thrusting of his cock. The room was silent except for our breaths, our hearts. It was strange how safe I felt in that moment, my body alive by feeling Max fuck me.
His precum slicked my hole as I squeezed him tight with my ass muscles, desperate to please. His hands reached around my chest, lightly teasing my nipples, while I moaned and squirm under his steady rhythm.
It did not take very long for Max to groan and say, “I am going to cum inside of you.”
“Yes,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Please, Max.”
It hit me in waves—the heat, the fullness, the feeling of him spilling into me. Shot after shot, warm and thick, until he collapsed across my back, throbbing still. My own cock erupted onto the sofa cushions, ropes of cum streaking out of me as my body bucked.
I gasped, shy but eager, as Max kissed me on the back of my shoulder. When he finally pulled out, he brushed his thumb along my jaw to help turn my head, showing me an approving smile. He slapped my ass lightly. “Better shower, mate, or you will be late for work,” he said softly.
I laughed a little, still catching my breath. As he headed for the door, he looked over his shoulder once more, eyes calm and proud. “Glad Jai told me about your new outfit,” he said. “I waited this morning just to see you in it.”
When the door closed, I stood there, legs weak, the scent of his cologne still in the air. I could hardly believe this was my new life in Sydney—where athletic men actually noticed me, believed in me, and wanted me around. And for the first time since arriving last week, I began to feel like I was indeed The Chosen Jock.
Author is Brad
My email is [email protected] — I would love to hear your thoughts.
I love getting men excited—whether it is through my writing, watching me grind out reps in skin-tight gear at the gym, showing off online, or moving my body on a stage.
I will stay hard for you—in every way that matters.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
