Apart from peak time when every human on earth seems to pack into your shitty little Planet Fitness, or the times the gym manager decided to blast that boring, trashy background music a little too loud; most gyms are really quiet places.
It’s just the backing ambience of people getting their shit done. No one really chatters or makes too much noise for the most part. It’s part of the unspoken agreement of the place.
You’ve bought into this social contract as well implicitly when you signed up. Not like you really had much of a choice. Being new to the gym meant you didn’t have any bros to shoot shit with. So you just get in, pop on your headphones and pump out your reps. Just going through the motions.
It’s almost Zen. Really calm.
A nagging voice in your head told you that Calm didn’t build 20 inch biceps. Make some noise.
You try it a little but…no. That weight of social convention keeps you from making more than the slightest hiss as you breath out during a heavy set.
As you rack your weight you hear the ping from the door and just thoughtlessly glance over to see who comes in.
Your heart skips a beat and the whole atmosphere changes.
The doors glide open and you see a Pack of about 5 absolute Adonises. The kind of guys you never thought you’d ever see at your piddly little commercial gym.
Shoulders so broad they block the light from outside. Quads so big they sway as they walk. Clothes already straining over skin like they had the worlds best pump. Bodies so hard and sculpted that it seemed ridiculous that any of them needed the equipment in here. They were their own walking temples of Iron and steel.
And at their head was an absolute god of a man. Brutal looking. A prime specimen of something almost surpassing humanity. You wondered if the God of Gainz forged his genes personally. Surely someone like that was a fucking Demi-god of some sort.
Well no matter what he was, he carried himself and the others responded to him as the clear AMOG. Alpha male of the Group.
This pack of dudes walks into the gym and everything stops. Their mere existence demands attention. You notice some people finish up their sets right quickly and make to the exit, scattering like animals before an earthquake.
Others just sit and stare. Ogling and drooling like thralls transfixed. You even swore you heard one of the gym bunny chicks at the back doing stretches moan a little when she saw them. Her friends didn’t titter like they might have done normally. They understood the urge. Instead the lot of them just bashfully left the gym. Two of the studs gave them a wink and blew a kiss as they passed.
AMOG wasted no time surveying his kingdom. His eyes locked in on a free bench. Your heart dropped a little. It was really close to you…whatever you’d just try to keep focused. Mind your business. Turn up your music a bit.
That group tho, it was so surreal. AMOG walked silently to the bench. No words. Nothing. But his entourage did all the speaking for him. A veritable greek chorus of all the things you’d need to hear as an alpha about to crush a workout. Each bringing something different. An echo chamber of Brotherhood. Maybe that was the key to building a body like his.
They were fucking wild animals, shrieking and hollering. You heard them loud and clear even through your headphones
“Fuck yeah bro!”
“Get it bro!”
“Fucking come on, man! What are you, a pussy?”
“Last time you went for the 60s. I know you can do better.”
AMOG goes straight for the heaviest set of Dumbbells. Gripping them makes his forearms swell.
He gets into position for a dumbbell bench press. Perfect form. Even under the pump cover he’s wearing you can see the way his pecs bulge and swell. His crew stands and watches, surrounding him. Ready to support. Eager to congratulate.
He starts cranking out reps. With every rep you can hear the way his breathing just cuts through the noise again. Loud. Clear. Hissing like a steam engine or some kind of ancient reptilian beast. On purpose too. Just pure douchey ego that doesn’t even try to keep quiet.
He goes through his sets.
In between his bros go about their own workouts. But when he is pumping iron, they drop everything and make him the center of attention.
He seldom speaks. Just the occasionally “yeah” or “Nah bro” while the rest clamour around him. Barely connecting to each other.
He’s like a King holding court.
Very very loud court.
“Man, I keep telling you Gymshark is done for. YoungLA is where it’s at. They’ve got such dope colours. You’d look so good in them bro!”
“You remember that slut Stacy, brah? Took her home last night. Her dad’s pretty cute too. Might have to pay another visit.”
“God I fucking hate this place. It’s so basic. Why do we keep coming to this Planet-Fitness bs. We should be going to the elite gyms where we can better ourselves!”
“The pump is so good dude, fuuuuck. Feel em. Feel me!”
In the last few reps the breathing turns to grunting. It sounds like some kind of beast. Deep. Primal. Vaguely erotic.. And it seems to push him further. Give him strength.
His entourage gets louder now, pushing him. practically begging him to go harder.
“Fuck yes you can do it”
“Bro! BRO! BROOOO!”
“PUSH IT, go! Harder Pussy!”
“You’re a fucking god dude!”
The grunts turn into an almost aroused yell. Just going super saiyan. Roaring like a beast. Veins bulging in his neck. Letting his power out as he destroys his muscles.
The weights drop to the ground so that even on the padded floor they echo through the whole gym.
Every exercise is like this. His entourage follows suit, although none of them seem to possess the power, the focus, the crazed drive of their AMOG.
They keep up the constant stream of praise to their leader, like a flock of birds grooming and serenading a swimming crocodile.
With every loop around the gym their noise seems to drive people off until it’s just you and them. You’ve just been turning your music up louder and louder and trying to focus but each time they manage to top it.
With every new loop too it’s like they’re getting more and more vicious. More primal. All of them taken over by some kind of fugue state. A ritual led by their God the AMOG. All of the grunts turning into moans. All of the exclamations turning into more and more elicit cries
“Mmmfuck, let me carry your babies, dude!”
“Bro you could have me or my bitches any day.”
“Lead us to victory, my god!”
“Muscle master race. Fuck my cock’s leaking..”
They roll up to a machine next to you and it’s almost scary. Heat emanating from their bodies in waves. Muscles twitching beneath sweat shimmering skin. Veins throbbing and full to bursting. Hate and rage in their eyes. Possessed and transformed by proximity to this living legend of a man.
AMOG sets up and his lackeys load it to the highest level. He looks at them with contempt and spits his first actual words of the evening.
“More. Get some plates and load it on.”
They scramble to obey. 10, 20, 30, 40kg. Piling on more weight than the machine was ever designed for.
He sets up for the exercise and even you stop and watch.
He begins to strain and it looks like the weight might be too much for him.
He tugs and pulls. His face going red. Veins bulging from his neck. Roaring. Gnashing. Cursing.
The chorus starts up from the others.
“Go Go GO!”
“Do it. Fuck He’s gonna do it!”
“Come on. No pain. No gain. Don’t be a fucking Loser!”
You see his gym shorts start to stain and leak with thick, viscous pre and then juicy globs of cum that just pulses like a stream hitting the fabric of his pants.
The weights move and he screams “FUCKKK!” And gets in a single, perfect, muscle fiber destroying rep before letting the plates clatter back to the starting position.
“LETS GOOOOOO” he shouts and all his buds shout it with them as they go into a frenzy.
The atmosphere is almost intoxicating and you feel the urge to scream with them. To join them. A yearning, longing wistfulness. But you restrain yourself…barely.
AMOG doesn’t tho. He doesn’t restrain a thing. He turns and punches a hole in the sheer wall leaving a dent in it. And then for extra measure, topples the machine, throwing it to the floor.
He rips off his pump cover and basks in the glow of his own magnificence. Sweat dripping in rivers down every contour of his body.
The rest of his entourage kneels and you see in their eyes mingled lust, envy, submission. They have all finally gone silent. No more words are necessary.
AMOG’s Heaving shoulders and heavy breath subside and he lets out a simple contented sigh.
He turns to you and smirks. “Shit bro, sorry. Didn’t notice you there. You’re so quiet.”
He reaches into his gym bag and throws a wad of cash to the ground in front of the broken machine
“That should be enough for Avis to cover repairs.”
He turns and walks to the door. His gang follows like a procession of acolytes.
Before he exits he turns and shouts to you in the back of the gym, pointing to the mess of jizz and sweat he’s left behind.
“Yo, do me a favor derack my weights and clean up that stuff for me when you’re finished. Avis doesn’t mind a broken machine, but he keeps his shit clean in The Abyss.”
The Model for this one is Lexx Little. Check him out. And If you want to support the creation of more hypnotic experiences and writing, then you can do so by subscribing to my Patreon, or to my Youtube channel. And if you want to interact more closely with me and my supportive community you can join my Discord server. And check out my file archive on my website.