I stared at Ivan “the Terrible” Teldov, the dumbbells in my hands curling up and down on their own. The gym owner-trainer was geared up for action in a pair of tight, black shorts and a tight, blue muscle shirt, his chestnut-brown, hard-rock body glistening with sweat. He was looming over a guy sprawled out on a weight bench desperately trying to wrestle a loaded barbell off his chest, urging the groaning man on in his subtle, profanity-laden, 120-decibel way.
Ivan leaned in even closer, big hands on big, bunched quads, square-jawed face inches away from the other man’s tear-streaked face. He screamed at the guy to push out that final excruciating rep, spit spraying out of his snarling mouth.
My cock was the hardest appendage on my underdeveloped 180-pound, 18-year-old body as I watched, bulging the mesh in my shorts. I was pumping iron, wishing I was pumping buzzcut blond muscle-stud Ivan instead.

Just before closing time, it was my turn to get the Ivan the Terrible training experience.
‘Round ’em out at the top!’ the big man barked, the gym empty now. ‘Like you’re bear-huggin’ someone!’
I clumped the dumbbells together over my head, hurriedly banging out another set of chest flies, hopefully to Ivan’s satisfaction. The man’s dimple-chinned face, bulging bronze body, and Drill Sergeant intensity were more than a little intimidating up-close, even after two weeks of getting yelled at.
‘You wanna feel it right here,’ he growled, reaching down and prodding my chest through my T-shirt. His warm, blunt fingertip ran along the swollen edge of one of my pecs, brushing over a nipple.
I shivered, the dumbbells jumping in my hands. I barely had the strength to bring them back together overhead to complete the set.
‘What’s next?’ Ivan demanded.
I scrambled upright on the bench. ‘Uh, like your plan says, I was, um, just going to do some sit-ups to finish off my workout.’
‘Quittin’ already?’
‘I’ve been here two hours!’
He snorted, tousled my curly mop of brown hair. ‘Crunch-time then, junior.’
The man of striated granite was actually only a few years older than me, but you’d never know it from the way he handled himself, and others. I lay back down on the bench and brought my feet up. He grabbed my knees, shoved my legs closer. ‘Go!’ he yelled.
I interlaced my fingers behind my head quicker than a perp on Cops, started crunching abs. Ivan grabbed the back of my head and pushed me higher, bumping my elbows into my knees.
‘You wanna feel it right along here,’ he snarled, letting go of my throbbing neck and yanking my tee up, poking my stomach.
I churned up and down like a madman, cock swelling along with my abs as Ivan traced my ribbed stomach with his fingertip. And when that thick finger trailed all the way down to my shorts, bulged the waistband and squirmed inside, I almost did a face-plant into my knees.