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Post Massage - Stranded White Briefs
True Story: As I put my clothes back on I realized that my pants were missing. I frantically searched the small room coming up empty handed. I hear the door open! I look up at a licensed masseuse holding my pants in hand. Masseuse says “My apologies my man. Must have grabbed your pants while picking up the towels”…. He then turns his head, looking away as if he was embarrassed for me…. He chuckled and says, “Nice tighty whities my man!” The Masseuse hands me my pants and shakes his head as he walks out of the room. I could hear soft laughter just outside the door. After getting dressed I approached the receptionist to pay for my massage. The receptionist was a beautiful blonde girl. She burst out into laughter and apologizes as she said she has just watched a funny reel and couldn’t stop laughing. I tried to ignore her chuckles and pulled out my wallet to pay. I blushed in embarrassment. Upon leaving, I couldn’t help but question if the Masseuse had told the hot blonde receptionist about walking in on me in my tighty whities and mistakenly take my pants. I guess I will never know for 100% sure if he did or didn’t tell her…
The rule is if your tee shot doesn't make it past the ladies tee box, you gotta hit your next shot with your pants around your ankles. If you fail to hit your drive past the ladies tee twice, you have to shoot your next round in nothing but your underwear or with your “ahem” out…
The Anatomy Lesson
Howard normally dreaded the part of the day he'd have to spend in Mr. Kent's class. As the school's "physical education" teacher, time with Mr. Kent usually meant one thing: "gym class."
Fat and effeminate, Howard would naturally be the target of bullying from other the other boys his age — even at 18 years old, many of them still acted like children, after all. Perhaps that's something he could have dealt with. But the relentless taunting he received from Mr. Kent was on a different level.
It seemed every day Mr. Kent would single out Howard, either for his more-than-average weight, his less-than-masculine mannerisms, or a combination of the two.
Today, however, Howard was feeling very different about having Mr. Kent for second period. It wasn't just that this was a "classroom day" -- one of the rare times the meathead Mr. Kent had to pretend to be able to teach "health studies." Rather, it was that Howard had a feeling he'd finally figured out how to test the project he'd been working on for psych class.
Howard made sure to be the first one in the classroom that day, scoping out the best place to sit. Where his normal tactic was sitting in the back to try to avoid Mr. Kent's notice as much as possible, today he knew he'd want to be near the centre of the action.
The classroom gradually filled up, with every student eventually finding a seat. A couple seemed surprised to see Howard sitting right in the middle of the second row, but no one was fazed beyond that. Instead, most students seemed more interested in the empty space at the front of the room, with Mr. Kent normally being there well before the class began.
As the minutes ticked by, Howard began to worry that maybe he would not be getting what he had hoped for. He knew Mr. Kent had seen the hypnosis videos -- his IP address was all over the site he'd anonymously sent to the buff blockhead last night -- but perhaps the effect had not been what Howard had expected...? Mind control was tricking business, after all. Maybe Mr. Kent was still snoozing away in the "deep sleep" of a trance he must have entered into...
The high school senior let out a sigh of relief when the physical education teacher walked into the classroom, seeming like he was in a bit of a daze.
"Sorry I'm late," Mr. Kent said as the room of teenage boys quieted down and he took his place front and centre of the classroom. "As you all know," he began, mostly sounding and acting like he normally did (a certain vacancy in his eyes only visible to someone who knew to look for it). "We're supposed to have our human anatomy lesson with a model to demonstrate today."
This was, of course, completely untrue. The anatomy lesson, in reality, tended to consist of little more than a series of slides and some worksheets to fill in. But Mr. Kent spoke with such certainty, everyone in the class just accepted that this must have been something they'd already been told and which they'd simply forgotten about.
"Unfortunately, I was just informed our model has the flu," Mr. Kent said matter-of-factly. "But, thankfully, Principal Shaw has authorized an alternative."
Without missing a beat, Mr. Kent peeled off his shirt and casually threw it aside, revealing an impressive physique. With his clothes on, it was clear that Mr. Kent was a muscular man, but the details were always left to the imagination. Now, with bulging biceps, plump pectorals, and rippling abs on full display, it was apparent that whatever this man lacked between his ears was more than made up for with the body he possessed.
Acting as though his behaviour was not out of the ordinary at all, the physical education teacher undid his pants as he continued to speak normally. "Since I'll be the model today," he said plainly as he began pulling down his waistband and fully exposing himself to his class, "I'll need someone to walk us through the lesson plan."
Casually, he stepped out of his trousers and adjusted his ample package like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Howard, since you're the only honours student in the class, I'd like you to do that, please."
"Sure thing, Mr. Kent," Howard said, grinning widely as he got to his feet and made his way to the front of the class.
This bastard had spent years making fun of Howard's body. If it wasn't his rolls of fat, it was his limp wrists. If it wasn't how winded he got, it was his lisp when he spoke. In other words, he'd made Howard a laughing stock because of the body he moved around the world in.
Turnabout was fair play, right?
So far, no one in the class was objecting, so Howard figured he'd start out slow and gradually ramp things up. He didn't want to spook anyone and end things before they even got started.
A few muscle groups explained, a few poses from his puppet -- and Mr. Kent would gradually get an erection all the while. If the exhibitionist display on its own wasn't enough to have the class thinking Mr. Kent was a bit of a pervert, the pre-cum that would soon be oozing out of his rock-hard and throbbing cock any time Howard touched him during the lesson would send that message much more clearly. Eventually, the bare-ass beefcake would be blissfully blowing his load from his totally-untouched cock when the hands-on portion for the "buttocks and anal region" began.
Still, they were not there yet. Before any of that could get underway, Howard had a very important instruction for the class.
"No notes today, guys," he said cheerfully, looking around the room before returning his gaze to his totally-exposed tormentor standing next to him without a clue about what was really going on. "I'll need your full attention on Mr. Kent, so feel free to pull out your phones and record if you think you'll want to refer back to this later."
Based on the hungry look a few guys in the room had on their faces, Howard knew many of them would be "referring back" to this often. Still others, he was sure, would waste no time spreading the footage around, ensuring everyone got to enjoy Mr. Kent's anatomy as much as they did.
Howard was looking forward to Mr. Kent himself seeing the footage tomorrow and realizing that stripping, posing, and spewing buckets of cum in front of his students was not some bizarre nightmare he'd had the night before. Instead, it was just the first of many new lessons he'd be learning thanks to one student he'd made such an impression on...
Ricky had absolutely no idea why he'd stripped completely and totally naked when his roommate Ian had told him to. Normally, he would have told the fruitcake he reluctantly shared an apartment with to fuck off with his faggy fantasies unless he wanted to be eating a knuckle sandwich for his next meal.
Something had changed, though. Ever since Ian had shown him that strange video -- what had that even been, anyway? what were all those odd colours, shapes, and sounds? -- there was something about Ian's voice that made it impossible for Ricky to do anything other than exactly whatever the scrawny little poof told him to.
Just stripping down in front of him was humiliating enough on its own. Ian -- dressed like he had somewhere important to be -- had regarded Ricky with an almost clinical gaze as the beefy bodybuilder had peeled off each article of clothing, making him feel significantly more vulnerable and exposed than he did when undressing in the locker room or getting naked with a sexual partner.
But that was far from the end of what Ian was going to order his homophobic roommate to do for him. Before the bare-ass beefcake had even had a second to process what he'd just done, Ian handed Ricky a bottle and issued a simple command: "oil up."
"Heh, okay, come on, bro, you've had your fun," Ricky said nervously, trying to act like this was not freaking him out as much as it was. Despite his profound desire to escape this situation, he was nevertheless doing exactly as he was told, starting by rubbing the baby oil all over his meaty pectorals as Ian looked on hungrily.
"Don't stop there," Ian said, ignoring Ricky's words, openly objectifying him by paying attention only to his body. "Make sure to get plenty on your abs and biceps, too."
"Right... cool, but... uh, this is probably enough of this shit now, right?" Ricky asked with the same nervousness in his voice as -- despite himself -- he applied more baby oil to his well-muscled flesh.
"Dick too," Ian said plainly, gesturing to the nether regions where he wanted Ricky to continue oiling himself up.
"Fuck, come on, Ian," Ricky pleaded as he applied the slick substance to his crotch. "I know I was a jerk, but don't you think whatever you're doing has gone far enough now?"
"Arms above your head," Ian stated, again ignoring Ricky's words in favour of his body alone. As the burly bodybuilder lifted his arms, Ian circled around him, evaluating him like a piece of meat for purchase instead of a person he shared an apartment with.
When the slender, smaller man had finished his walk around the Greek god currently displaying himself like a cheap whore for sale, he finally looked Ricky in the face. The beefy meathead's hope for a response to his plaintiff pleas for mercy were dashed when Ian's next command came: "No more talking, got it?"
While not an order that came with a physical action like the others had, Ricky felt his body obeying, his tongue choosing a position to rest in and his jaw clenching shut ever-so-slightly.
"And to answer your question," Ian began, studying Ricky's oiled-up physique as he spoke. "I've barely gotten started."
Ricky swallowed hard as a vindictive expression came over Ian's face.
"You think I don't know the shit you get up to?" he said, contempt in his voice. "Date-raping all those girls you bring home?!" Ian spat. "Acting like a goddamn neo-Nazi at all those fucking far right rallies?!" he continued. His eyes narrowed and his voice went ice cold as he concluded: "Beating the shit out of my best friend and his boyfriend for holding hands in public?"
Ricky felt his stomach drop. Ian knew. Ian knew all of it. And, thanks to whatever impossible trick he had used to put Ricky into his current state, Ian was going to make sure that this malicious macho man learned an important lesson: karma's a bitch.
Ricky jumped when a knock came suddenly at the door to their apartment.
Ian glanced at his wristwatch, a sly grin forming on his face. "Looks like some of my guests must be early," he said simply.
Ricky, unable to speak, pleaded with his eyes, knowing he deserved no mercy but still praying that he might receive it.
"Not to worry, though. It won't take me long to set things up for the party..." Ian said, reaching down to start pulling items out of a sack that had been sitting at his feet. Calmly and methodically, he set the first few items down on the table in front of him: a leather flogger, shark-tooth nipple clamps, a full-sized wooden frat paddle, and a spiked chastity cage.
Ricky didn't know what mortified him more: the torture devices Ian had just spread out on the table, or the fact that the bag that these BDSM nightmares had come from still appeared to be three-quarters full.
A knock came at the door once more, this time louder and more insistent.
"Well, don't just stand there," Ian said to the white-as-a-sheet Ricky as he began to dig in the sack once more. "Be a good boy and let our guests in."
Dreading what would come next (answering the door -- naked, oiled up, and on full display -- to a couple of fags who loved his muscles and hated his guts) and what would come after (a night -- or more -- of sadistic sexual torment from every last homo Ian knew), Ricky still had to do as he was commanded.
As he turned the handle to let the first of Ian's guests inside, he heard his new master call out with words that told him things were only going to get worse from here on out: "Come on in, guys! The party's just getting started..."
As Gerald unceremoniously groped one of Carson's perky butt cheeks -- under the guise of innocently "applying sunscreen," of course -- he could tell that his roommate was hating every last second of this very public humiliation.
Thinking back on how they'd gotten here, Gerald's smile only grew at Carson's reaction.
Carson was, to put it mildly, an arrogant asshole. From the moment Student Services had randomly assigned them to the same room, Gerald had had to put up with a guy who was much wealthier than he was (Gerald was there on a "financial need" scholarship, while Carson was a "legacy admission"), was hotter than he was (not that Gerald was unattractive, but he just couldn't compete with a total 10 like Carson), and also insisted on letting everyone know just how rich and good-looking he was.
To make matters worse, Carson's views on everything were deeply conservative -- and he didn't keep that to himself for a second. Gerald quickly decided he wasn't going to reveal his sexuality to his roommate for that reason, given the openly homophobic statements that he'd made without prompting on their first day together in residence. While Gerald could, thankfully, "pass" as straight -- and Carson was too self-involved to notice any of the "tells" Gerald gave -- he resented having to hide who he was (having thought he'd left those days of being in the closet long behind him).
However, as it turned out, Gerald had something on his side that would quickly give him the upper hand over the cocky prick he shared a room with. It was his interest in hypnotism that had inspired Gerald to major in psychology and, after a few lessons on the nature of "knowledge" and "belief" in the brain, he felt comfortable trying out his skills on Carson.
Not the brightest bulb in the box, Carson had easily accepted the "relaxation playlist" Gerald provided him with without a second thought. By the end of the week, a hypersonic message of Gerald's voice had been drilled into the beautiful bastard's head: "You'll believe anything I say."
On Saturday morning, Carson rose groggily from bed, having drunk far too much the previous night. He wore only a loose pair of boxer shorts -- typical nighttime attire.
Upon seeing him, Gerald quickly decided to test out how well the "relaxation playlist" had worked over the previous week. "Hey, big guy, ready for the beach?"
Carson gave his roommate a quizzical look, still a bit drowsy. "Beach...?" he asked uncertainly, scratching his head.
"Yeah, we go to the beach every weekend," Gerald replied, watching Carson's reaction closely.
"Oh... right... Yeah, you're right..." Carson said, confused and uncertain as he spoke. He glanced back towards his dresser and added, "Just, uh, let me get my trunks, bro..."
Gerald was pleased with how this was going so far, but "going to the beach on the weekends" was an easy belief to instil. Why would Carson question it, especially since he was still drowsy from sleep and, in fairness, had gone to the beach with Gerald at least once before?
The psych major decided to test out a stronger "belief" on Carson. "You don't have any swim trunks," he said calmly. "It's a clothing optional beach."
Carson narrowed his eyes, like he was struggling to understand the very words his roommate was speaking. He looked to his dresser, back to Gerald, and then back again before finally saying, "Oh, right..."
"You know, big guy," Gerald continued, emboldened by his apparent success so far, "you don't even wear anything on the trip there."
"I... I don't?" Carson asked, again narrowing his eyes in confusion.
"Nah," Gerald said, taking a step closer and putting a thumb in Carson's waistband. "It's just a short drive there, you know?"
Carson instinctively recoiled from Gerald's intimate touch, roughly pushing his hand away. The psych major had a moment of panic. Maybe the hypnotic command hadn't worked?
"I can take my own shorts off, bro," Carson said bitingly, apparently appalled only by Gerald's touch and not by his words. Although he still seemed a bit confused, Carson wasted no time in lowering his boxers to the ground and stepping out of them.
He stood awkwardly for a minute, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. This wasn't like a locker room where he and a buddy might be talking naked in the shower. No, he was bare-ass and on display while Gerald was still just dressed normally.
"You better let me carry your stuff," Gerald said, pocketing the car keys (among other things) and walking to the door. "Since, you know, you don't have anywhere to put it."
Carson was obviously feeling apprehensive about following his roommate past the threshold to their dorm room. Gerald's statement had definitely underscored how very vulnerable he was in this state -- no clothes, no keys, no wallet, no phone. He looked around the room, almost like he was trying to find an answer to why this all felt so unnatural despite his belief that he did this all the time.
Growing concerned that the thick-headed rich boy was going to figure out what was going on -- at least enough to spoil his fun -- Gerald volunteered another "belief" for Carson: "You're always in such a hurry to get there, you know?"
Blinking as though a bright light had just been shone in his eyes, Carson's attention shot back to Gerald.
"Yeah, shit, what am I doing wasting time?" he said, marching up beside his roommate. "Let's catch some rays!" he continued, now walking ahead.
Carson may have been convinced this was normal -- him walking bare-ass down the halls of their residence building -- but Gerald noticed right away that his instinctive reactions were still there. The arrogant jock had his hands cupped in front of his crotch, trying to preserve some sense of modesty. He even seemed to blush when they walked by their first fellow student.
"Sup," Carson said, trying to act casual.
"Sup," the other guy replied, eyeing up Carson's nudity skeptically, but saying nothing about it.
Much as Gerald had hoped, that guy's reaction was shared by everyone else they walked past. Yes, it was unusual for Carson to be parading around in his birthday suit, but this was college! Who knows what Carson got up to last night or what inane dare his buddies put him up to today? And Carson was selling it, hardly letting his embarrassment show (although Gerald could see the signs of blushes and cold sweats when looked for them).
When the two reached the parking lot, Gerald kept hold of the keys, unlocking the car and hopping in the passenger seat. Why give the keys back to Carson when all that was needed for the car to start was just having the fob inside the vehicle?
Watching the bare-ass Carson climb into the driver's seat beside him, Gerald felt like he could get used to having a chauffeur -- especially one who wore such an appealing "uniform."
"You always let me pick what we listen to," Gerald said as Carson started to pull the car onto road. The cocky jock eyed his roommate suspiciously, but did nothing to stop him as he hooked his phone up to the vehicle's media system.
As Kylie Minogue sang "Padam Padam" through the speakers, Carson gave Gerald the side eye and spat out, "Yo, why are we listening to this gay shit?"
Feeling empowered, Gerald said simply, "Because I'm gay."
Carson took his eyes fully off the road, looking directly over at the man sitting next to him. "Whoa, are you fucking serious?!"
Gerald thought about changing Carson's mind on this one. It would be easy, based on everything he'd accomplished so far. Just a few words saying "You've always been fine my sexuality" or "You've always supported gay rights" or anything like that would probably do it.
But there was something about keeping Carson's personality exactly as it was that appealed to Gerald much more than changing it. After all, where's the fun in hypnotism if not in making someone do things they know they don't really want to do?
"You don't want to talk about this right now," Gerald said, looking out and seeing the lake. "We're almost there."
"What... but you said you're a fa..." Carson said, confused, almost like he was forgetting what he'd been saying a moment ago. "Right, yeah, okay..." he mumbled. "We'll talk about that later, yeah..."
As they pulled into the parking lot, Gerald could tell Carson was growing apprehensive again. The beach wasn't crowded, but there were at least a couple dozen other college students there.
"You, uh... you sure this is a clothing optional beach?" Carson asked as they pulled the car up to the side of the road, no doubt seeing that everyone there was either fully dressed or in a regular swimsuit.
"Well, the clothing optional section is a couple miles down that way," Gerald said, gesturing to the distance as he opened his door to get out. "But we always walk along this part of the beach to get there."
"Ri... right..." Carson replied hesitantly, self-consciously covering his crotch again as he hopped out the driver's side.
All eyes were on the totally naked stud standing in their midst as soon as the two roommates stepped foot on the beach. Thankfully, since they were all college-aged folks as well, they seemed to think the same things those on campus had: this guy either lost his pants in a night of blackout drinking or was getting up to some kind of frat boy shenanigans right now.
Still, in this very public place, the reactions were more apparent, with a lot of the people looking over and gasping or laughing at the bare-ass jock strutting his stuff. Noticing that several of them had pulled out their phones to take a picture, Gerald volunteered another "belief" for Carson: "You never cover your crotch like that."
The well-built bastard let his hands fall to his side, blushing profusely as he became even more exposed in this very public place. He seemed to be trying to find a way to question this -- that couldn't be true, could it? -- when Gerald casually peeled off his shirt and handed Carson the sunscreen.
"You always get my back," he said simply, turning so that his face wouldn't be in the pictures.
"Oh... right, yeah..." Carson said confusedly, squirting some sunscreen onto his hands and awkwardly working it into Gerald's back. With any luck, the photos that came out of this would be even more humiliating than just ones featuring Carson in the nude would be -- instead, they'd featured Carson apparently massaging sunblock onto another man's back, giving everything a "gay vibe" the butt-naked homophobe would be horrified to see.
"And I always get your back too," Gerald added, promptly taking the bottle from Carson and squeezing some sunscreen into his hands.
"Oh... yeah, right, okay..." Carson said with the same confusion, blushing as he turned around and brought his totally-exposed cock and balls back into view of everyone else on the beached. He bristled at Gerald's touch like he had in their room, but didn't pull away this time (apparently "believing" this is what always happened). Gerald gave his roommate's well-muscled back a quick once over before proceeding to openly grope and fondle his bare butt in front of everyone.
"Really gotta get it on good," Gerald said as he publicly manhandled Carson's perky posterior.
"Uhh... yeah, umm, shouldn't we get going down to the clothing optional beach, bro?" Carson asked, obviously extremely uncomfortable with what was happening to him, nervously eyeing the people taking pictures of this public degradation.
"You call me 'Sir'," Gerald said, squeezing Carson's butt, not making any effort to disguise it as the application of sunscreen anymore.
"What?" Carson said, more fear than confusion in his voice.
"You always call me 'Sir' in front of other people," Gerald stated again, treating Carson's butt cheeks like a toy to play with as he spoke. "Because you want them to know I'm your superior."
Carson snapped at that, pulling away from Gerald. He whipped around, his full manly might and strength on display as he glared at his roommate like an animal about to attack.
"'Superior'?! What the FUCK are you talking about, Sir?!" Carson snapped, apparently not noticing how his new title for Gerald had slipped in there.
For all the virility and power Carson was displaying, Gerald couldn't help but smirk. The big guy looked ridiculous, standing there totally bare-ass in public and trying to act all big and manly.
"Well, I mean, think about it," Gerald said, picking his shirt up and putting it back on causally. "You always insist on being totally naked for me, even though I normally stayed fully dressed," Gerald added, gesturing to both of their bodies (and causing a blush to form once more on Carson's face). "You always want to drive me everywhere," he continued, gesturing to Carson's luxury vehicle. "And you always call me 'Sir' when you think someone else might hear you."
"That... well... yeah, that's all true, but... but..." Carson said, going pale now as his world seemed to come crashing down around him. His mind was racing trying to make sense of so much conflicting information.
"You know you've got more money," Gerald said, laying out the facts. "You know you're hotter than I am," he continued. "But you've always believed I'm your superior."
"I... I..." Carson stuttered, the internal conflict too great for him to even form words. He had obviously always thought no one was better than him. With such a deeply held belief in conflict with the new "belief" he'd given the arrogant asshole standing in front of him, Gerald didn't know if this one would stick.
"You know what?" Gerald said, digging something out of his pocket. "Why don't you take some time to think that one over?"
Carson hesitated, clearly uncertain about what to do or say. Thankfully, Gerald had something in mind to keep things moving along as the "belief" that he was Carson's superior wormed its way deeper into the big guy's brain.
Handing Carson's own wallet to him, Gerald continued, "You love buying things for me." He gestured to the concession stand at the edge of the beach, adding, "So, how about you go buy me an ice cream?"
Carson looked at his wallet as though he was seeing it for the first time. He studied the item in his hand, clearly trying to make sense of what he was running through his head. Finally, he looked up and met Gerald's gaze.
"What flavour, Sir?"
When he stepped into the living room wearing only a towel, Vince hadn't realized that his roommate was home -- let alone that Randall appeared to be hosting some kind of event, judging by the half dozen other men seated in front of him. He didn't recognize any of them, but they appeared to be uniformly all of the same type: fat, old, ugly, and seemingly fixated on Vince.
"Vince," Randall said, smirking like he knew something his roommate did not. "Can you come here for a second?"
Vince had two reasons to hesitate. The first was that this was the first time all week his roommate had looked at him with something other than a scowl on his face. Randall had been covering Vince's share of the rent for three months now -- something he had been doing on the belief that Vince had fallen on hard times. When Randall discovered earlier that week that Vince had actually been spending his rent money on a pricy gym membership -- alongside everything else that had helped him gradually build his body into a work of art -- suffice it to say that he was none too pleased to have discovered that his apparently self-absorbed roommate had been taking advantage of him all that time.
Secondly -- and most pressing in this moment -- Vince was wearing nothing but a towel in a room full of strangers (all of whom, he noticed now, were eying him up with a definite hunger in their eyes). Did Randall really need him right now?
"Uh, just let me get --"
"It will only take a second," Randall interrupted. "Really."
Reluctantly walking up where his roommate was standing, Vince hardly a moment to gauge the situation before Randall suddenly yanked the towel away from around his waist and casually threw it aside.
"What the fuck?!?" he exclaimed, not yet having processed anything more than the initial shock.
Acting as though he was trying to calm his roommate down, Randall pointed to the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of him and said something which had quite the opposite effect: "Just look at the camera..."
"Camera! What?!"
Finally putting the pieces together -- and realizing he was now totally exposed not just in front of the strange older men sitting in the room with him, but untold numbers of viewers online -- a feeling of total mortification overtook Vince. Coming to his senses, he quickly attempted to provide himself with some level of modesty by cupping his hands in front of his crotch (something which mattered little to those who would replaying the recording of his exposure later).
"Yeah, you see, Vince," Randall said, smirking even more widely now as he took in the sight of Vince's stellar physique and petrified expression. "I told my friends here about our little predicament," he continued, gesturing to the other men in the room.
Adding more anxiety to an already nightmare-inducing situation, Vince noticed with horror that several of the men had risen to their feet, obscenely rubbing their crotches as the tents within their pants grew -- and grew, and grew, and grew -- in size.
"You've got to prioritize working on that body of yours -- best gym membership, a personal trainer, top-quality protein powders, the best supplements a body can buy..." Randall began, making no effort to hide the way he was sizing up Vince's body like a piece of meat he was about to purchase from a butcher. "You can't possibly pay your share of the rent when you're investing in all that..."
The men in the room were coming closer. Vince knew -- with sudden terror filling him up -- that, despite being big, strong, and manly, he was prey this pack was about to pounce on.
"My friends here, they're gonna help both of us make enough today to cover a year's worth of rent," Randall said, stepping away to make room for a creepy old man fishing a shockingly large cock out of his pants to get closer to Vince.
Randall dipped in front of the camera only briefly to say some concluding remarks before leaving the scene completely and allowing the hundreds of well-paying viewers to get a good view of today's unwitting star: "Enjoy the show..."