Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 10)

Martin gulped, and heard a notification on his phone. He checked it, and saw that someone had sent him directions…somewhere, and he knew he had to go there. This was a nightmare–this thing couldn’t be serious, right? But he found himself going into the bedroom, packing up a bag of gym clothes and almost nothing else. He got in his car and drove off, simply abandoning his keys on the counter–somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be coming back here, if New You Resolutions had anything to say about it. 

The directions led him out of town on the interstate, and after a good fifty miles into the rural part of the state, he took an exit onto a smaller highway, and drove through the night, deeper and deeper, away from the city he’d known almost all of his life. All he could do while he was driving was think about how much his body ached from his exercise that day, and wonder who in the world he was going to be meeting on the other end of this journey. The sun rose, and he was close. Exhausted and nearly asleep at the wheel, he finally reached his destination.

It was a rather secluded piece of property in the foothills of the mountains. There was a bit of winter snow on the ground from a few days ago that hadn’t melted off yet. Martin got out of the car, and trudged his way up the wood steps of the house and knocked on the door. There were a few moments of silence, and then he heard the sound of heavy shoes on the other side of the door, and it opened, revealing, he assumed, his new trainer, and landlord.

He was…massive. Easily six foot six, and probably close to 300 pounds. He was older, most likely in his late fifties, his chest covered in grey hair, face shaven but with a layer of stubble, hair cut into a close flattop. He was wearing nothing other than a set of fatigue pants and combat boots. He stared down at Martin with a sense of disdain, and then stepped aside without a word, allowing Martin inside, sizing him up as he squeezed past the massive fellow.

“So this is who they’re sending me this year? Fucking hell. You projects are usually rough around the edges, but I haven’t had to shape up a doughball like you in a long time,” the man said.

“Please, there’s been some mistake, I…I just want to go home, please–”

Before Martin could get anything else out, the man’s hand was around his neck–tight enough to constrict his air a bit, but more an expression of power. “In this house, you will address me as Sir, do you understand? You are here because you want to get in shape, and god damn it, I will do so. I was a drill instructor for twenty years, and I have become very good at taking weak little pieces of shit like you and turning them into something resembling actual men–but the plus side of doing it for private clients is that I get to do everything the army never had the balls to let me do.”

He released Martin’s neck, and he stumbled backwards a bit, falling against the wall behind him.

“Now, drop and give me twenty.”

“What?”

“I said, you fucking worm, drop and give me twenty pushups! This isn’t fucking rocket science, and if I don’t hear a Sir after your next sentence I will beat your ass red and raw to make sure you remember.”

Martin gulped, and got down in the hallway of the house, arms shaking from their massive workout the day before, and he could barely keep himself up in a plank position. 

“Come on, let’s see what you have in you.”

He lowered himself down, but not far enough to the sergeant’s liking, and one boot came down on his back, and pushed him to the floor. 

“All the way down, come on. Kiss my boot each time, let’s see if that gives you a little more incentive.”

Martin pushed himself back up, and the sergeant slid his boot right under his face. Martin tried to will himself upright, tried to walk out the door, but couldn’t–he lowered himself down, kissed the sergeant’s boot, and then tried to push himself back up–and failed. He collapsed against the top of the man’s boot, shuddering, and the man laughed.

“If you’re going to stay down there, at least give it a good cleaning, faggot,” the sergeant said. Again, Martin pushed his tongue out against his will, and started licking at the man’s boot, tasting the fresh boot black on the surface and trying not to gag. He pushed himself back up and down a few more times, licking the boot in between–and he finally noticed that he was hard as a rock. Each time the sergeant insulted him, each time he had to lick that damn boot, he was leaking in the front of him gym shorts from the day before.

He wasn’t gay, he wasn’t into any of this shit–what the hell was happening to him? He made it to ten pushups before he shuddered, and his cock came while on the sergeant’s boot, letting out a little groan of pleasure as he did so.

“You fuckin’–roll the fuck over.”

Martin did as he was ordered, and the front of his shorts was soaked with his cum.

“Just couldn’t fucking contain yourself, eh? Well, we can put a stop to that. Clearly you aren’t in shape enough to workout today, so we might as well get you cleaned up.

Cleaned up meant a cold shower, having all of the hair on his body shaved off, his hair buzzed down to almost nothing, and finally, a chastity cage secured around his now hairless cock and balls. He was left in the bathroom, shivering and staring at a stranger in the mirror, until the Sergeant brought him his new uniform–nothing more than a pair of too tight fatigue pants, and a pair of combat boots like his. Then, it was time to eat, and the Sergeant allowed him to rest, finally, on a small cot next to the Sergeant’s own, much larger bed.

He was awoken by the feeling of the Sergeant’s body pressing down on him, and before Martin could do anything, the man’s massive cock was inside his virgin ass, one hand around Martin’s mouth to muffle his screams. He fucked him quick, and Martin was horrified to find himself enjoying it–enjoying the pain, the tightness of his chastity cage, all of it–and then it was over, and Martin discovered he’d slept until the next day. It was time to train.

The days fell into a rhythm. Breakfast. The Sergeant would put him through a rigorous workout, after a long morning jog. Lunch. Martin would complete his chores around the house and the property. Dinner. A couple hours of time to relax. Then bed. The sergeant would fuck him, and then they would sleep hard until the next day.

Winter thawed. Spring came and Summer was blossoming. Martin’s training was progressing–until a new development came along that changed everything again.


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