If he ever stops coming

Some friends worry about us. They say we are addicted to him, and if he stops coming one day the whole house will sink into major depression. We say that is not a reason to quit the addiction.

That first night we doubted him and egged him on, and we piled on torment and damage until every strongman monster and giant in the room had nothing left in his arms—damage that, without his consent, would earn every one of us a life sentence, damage no other man would ever want to live through twice, or come back for.

The second time he came, half the floor took turns on his cock in the showers. Many mouths. Many loads of cum from that night still living on the tongue. A lot of men say that if he ever stopped coming after that, the regret would not cut as deep—they already got to suck him. Not zero grief—just less of the unfinished kind.

He conquered us with his balls. The joy, the satisfaction, the shock of it already filled us past full. We are grateful past words. Every time he comes back after that and takes more, it feels like a dream we are not supposed to be inside. Any more meetings or chances are more than we deserve.

If gym members really want to see him, there are ways. Check the cold fact on the house record and the consent under glass.