5. Luke
Luke
I practically bounce into the gym parking lot ten minutes early, my gym bag swinging from one shoulder and a determined little smirk already plastered on my face.
This is going to be good.
I’m going to beat Mason here, warm up like a pro, and hit him with maximum sass the second he walks through the door. Something like, “Look who finally decided to show up, Mr. Reliable.”
Yeah. That’ll teach him for missing yesterday!
I push through the glass doors, the familiar scent of rubber mats and metal hitting me. I scan the floor. Then my triumphant grin freezes…
He’s already here.
Mason is over by the stretching area, moving through a series of warm-up stretches that should not look that smooth on a man his size.
He’s wearing short black compression shorts that hug powerful thighs and a military-green muscle-fit top that clings to every ridge of his chest and shoulders.
The fabric stretches across his broad back as he folds forward into a hamstring stretch, then flows effortlessly into a deep lunge.
His muscles flex and release with controlled power.
Strong. Flexible. Completely in command of his body.
Wowzers.
A hot little tingle races straight between my legs and up to my dick. I stop dead just inside the entrance, half-hidden behind a row of cardio machines, and just… stare.
God, he’s beautiful. Not in a polished, gym-bro way. In a rugged, mountain-man-who-could-throw-you-over-his-shoulder way.
And I’m all there for it.
I feel my nipples tingle just a little underneath my sports top and my cock is now very much in semi-hard territory. I press my thighs together and bite my lip, imagining those big hands gripping me instead of his own leg…
Holding me down.
Moving me exactly where he wants me.
If Mason decided he wanted something from me, I wouldn’t have a single physical chance of stopping him. The thought sends another rush of heat through me so strong I have to swallow a tiny whimper.
Mason straightens up, turns, and our eyes lock instantly. A slow, knowing smile curves his mouth. He crooks two fingers at me in a clear come here gesture.
Busted.
My cheeks flood with heat as I walk over, trying to look casual and failing miserably. My legs feel wobbly.
“Morning, little one,” Mason says, voice low and gravelly. “Early. That’s good. Now stretch. This is going to be a tough session.”
The words little one hit me like a sparkler going off in my belly.
I drop my bag and start my usual dynamic warm-up, but my mind is nowhere near my hamstrings.
All I can think about is Mason towering over me, those thick arms caging me in, his deep voice telling me exactly what to do while I squirm and beg…
I’d let him. I’d want him to. The fantasy loops so vividly I almost miss when he steps closer to correct my shoulder position, his big hand warm and firm on my upper back.
“Deeper,” Mason murmurs. “Good boy.”
I nearly melt into the mat.
Warm-up finishes way too quickly. My body is buzzing, partly from the movement, mostly from the six-foot-plus wall of Daddy energy standing next to me.
“Bench press first,” Mason announces, already walking toward the rack like it’s decided. “That’s the priority for your contest with Milo. Once we nail that, we’ll hit some shoulder press and lateral raises.”
I nod, then remember my glutes. “Wait… I always train glutes no matter what. Hip thrusts at the end at least?”
Mason stops and turns, one dark eyebrow raised.
“Not in my program you don’t,” Mason says. “There’ll be glutes work in there, but not the first session and certainly not at the top of the workout.”
I feel my lower lip push out before I can stop it. Full pout mode.
“But my glutes—”
“My way or the highway, Luke.” Mason says as his voice drops into that stern register that makes my stomach flip and my cock throb at the same time. “You want to get stronger and win? Then you follow the plan. Understood?”
I hesitate, cheeks burning, but the authority in his tone wins.
“Yes, Sir,” I mumble, the sir slipping out before I can catch it.
Mason gives a satisfied grunt and loads the bar.
We start the bench routine. Mason spots me like a hawk—hands hovering, eyes sharp. He only lets me work up to sixty percent of what I know I can handle.
The sets feel too easy.
Too safe.
By the third set I’m frustrated, muscles barely burning, ego stinging.
When I rack the bar after the final rep, I sit up and wipe my face with my towel. “How am I supposed to beat Milo like this? This is baby weight!”
Mason crosses his arms, biceps bulging.
“You need to trust me, boy,” Mason says. “I know what I’m doing. We build properly. No ego lifts that get you hurt again.”
I huff and look away.
Inwardly I’m fuming.
This session feels undercooked. I came here ready to push limits, not play it safe. We move through shoulder press and side raises, and even those feel controlled and measured.
Every time I try to add a little extra, Mason’s voice cuts in… firm, calm, undeniable.
By the time we finish, I’m in a proper huff. We walk out of the gym side by side, morning sunlight bright on the sidewalk. I’m quiet, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Mason glances down at me. “Something you want to say?”
I stop walking and glare up at him. “Yeah. You’re being too careful. I can handle more. You don’t know what you’re doing if you think this is going to get me stronger.”
Suddenly, Mason’s eyes darken. “I’m in charge, Luke. I know best. Keep up that attitude and I’ll spank that sweet ass right here in the parking lot.”
Heat flashes through me so fast I feel dizzy. But my mouth runs ahead of my brain. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” I snap, “and I can probably bench more than you anyway!”
The words hang in the air. Mason’s expression shifts from stern to something darker, hotter. Without another word he catches my wrist in one big hand and marches me toward his truck.
My heart hammers. I should protest. I should pull away. Instead my legs hurry to keep up, a traitorous thrill zipping through me.
Mason opens the passenger door, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and deposits me face-down over his lap on the bench seat. The door shuts with a solid thunk.
“Mason…wait…”
“Too late, little one.” His voice is rough, controlled. One large palm rubs over my gym shorts, squeezing my ass. “You earned this. And I hope you take a lesson from what is headed your way!”
I gasp as I feel Mason pull my gym shorts and jockstrap down toward the top of my thighs. And before I can take in the embarrassment at being so on display, the first smack lands firm and loud.
I yelp, more from surprise than pain. Mason doesn’t hold back. His hand comes down again and again: measured, deliberate, covering every inch of my upturned bottom. The sting blooms fast, turning into a deep, throbbing heat that rises straight to my dick.
“Awwww!” I protest, doing what I can to distract from my erect dick as it bounces.
“Take it,” Mason barks. “Disobedient boys get their bottoms heated. That’s just the way it is.”
I squirm, gasping, but his free arm holds me securely in place. Mason continues his admonishment as he spanks…
“You will follow my program,” smack “without backtalk.” smack “You will trust me to keep you safe and get you results.” smack-smack-smack!
Each spank pushes me closer to the edge. My cock rubs against his hard thigh with every wiggle. I’m so close to going beyond the point of no return. I’m mortifyingly, shamefully hard.
My breath come in little whimpers.
I’m so close—dangerously close—to cumming right here over Mason’s lap like a needy boy. I bite my lip hard, fighting it, trying to hold on to some scrap of composure.
“Say it,” Mason growls, pausing to rub slow circles over my burning cheeks. “You’ll follow orders without the attitude.”
“I’ll… I’ll follow your orders,” I pant, voice shaky. “No more backtalk. I promise.”
“Good boy.”
Two more firm swats seal the lesson, then his hand gentles, stroking soothingly over the sting.
I’m trembling, aching, every nerve alight.
For a long moment neither of us moves. I can feel how hard he is against my hip.
The knowledge that I did that to him makes me dizzy with desire anti takes all my willpower to stop my cock making a big sticky mess all over him.
Finally Mason helps me sit up, pulling me into his chest. His arms wrap around me—strong, steady, warm. One big hand strokes my hair while I hide my flushed face against his neck, breathing him in.
“Lesson learned?” Mason murmurs.
“Mmhmm,” I whisper, still floating.
Mason kisses the top of my head, then starts the truck. “I’ll drive you to the grocery store. Don’t want you walking after that.”
I nod, too blissed-out and embarrassed and turned-on to argue.
As we pull out of the parking lot, the sting in my bottom mingles with a deep, satisfied warmth in my chest.
Mason is bossy. Strict. Completely in control.
And I think I might be in serious trouble… because I love it.
The drive is quiet but comfortable. Mason rests one hand on my thigh, thumb stroking absently. By the time we reach the grocery store I feel calmer. It’s like the spanking reset something inside me.
Mason parks right out front and turns to me, eyes soft but still carrying that dominant edge. “Text me when you’re done with work. We’ll talk more about the program tonight if you want.”
I bite my lip and nod. “Okay… Daddy.”
The word slips out so naturally it surprises us both. His eyes flare with heat and something deeper. For a second I think he might pull me in for a kiss, but he just squeezes my thigh.
“Go on, little one. Before I decide you need another lesson right here.”
I scramble out of the truck on shaky legs, ass still tingling deliciously, and glance back once. Mason is watching me with a possessive little smile that makes my heart flutter.
This training partnership is going to be way more intense than I expected.
And now I’ve got a whole day of work ahead of me where I’m going to have to work extra hard to not spend the entire time thinking about my gym Daddy…
* * *