My Gay Muscle Cock Worshiper

As soon as I waked into the room I could feel his eyes on me. I’d planned everything well, down to the clothes I chose for the meeting. I’d been to the gym that morning so I was pumped, my massive arms bulging out of a tight white t-shirt far too small for me but stretchy enough to pass. The mounds of my pecs bulged and twitched, my abs clearly visible through the taut cotton.

My jeans were tight, the shape of my dick clearly visible down one leg. My fan sat in the corner silently watching me as I peeled off my shirt in the middle of the room. He’d been excited about the meeting all week, sending me photos of his hard seven inch gay muscle cock drooling precum, promising me that he wasn’t going to shoot a load until I gave him permission.
We’d said nothing to each other for ten minutes when I threw the bottle of oil into his lap where his long dick bulged under his sweat pants. I didn’t need to direct him, he approached me slowly with his usual swagger, his dick bouncing freely under the material.

The cold liquid met my skin and his hands started exploring, sliding over my gigantic shoulders, down my thick arms, around my waist. I let him unbutton my jeans, it wouldn’t be time to take full control of him until he’d had a play, stroked my rigid meat and revealed his own pendulous gay muscle cock for me to admire.

Only when we were both naked would I turn the tables and take full control, making him endure the temptation of my glistening oiled cock inches from his lips, his hands on both arms of the chair, not permitted to even stroke his own veiny manhood until I say so.