Page 87 of The Titan and the Trainer

“Jesus Christ, Cal, look at my junk, it looks ridiculous!”

Callum was already mesmerised by it. “Oh, I think it looks fab!” Callum replied with a smile.

Julian’s dick and balls were clearly emphasised by the shiny white material, and no matter how he tried to rearrange them for any element of modesty, there was no hiding anything. Callum couldn’t resist reaching down and giving things a little rub, which, of course, made the problem only… increase.

“Mmm, that feels nice,” Julian said, thinking this was just a gear-related turn-on, and maybe a prelude to some fun.

“Uh-huh,” said Callum, “you are working out like that. I want you to feel exposed. I want you to feel vulnerable. It’s all good practice for the photo shoot, when you will just be a piece of meat on show.” He paused. “But most of all, I just want to see you get sweaty in that suit because it’s really fucking sexy.” Again, Callum couldn’t resist touching Julian through the fabric. “And, if you’re a good boy, I might just suck you off through it later!”

“Mmm, now that I like the sound of,” Julian said, rearranging his now fully stiff dick, so it was pointing directly up to his navel, encased in the shiny fabric, as he reached for his socks and shoes.

***

They did work out for an hour like that, and Julian got used to the feeling, declaring in the end that it was actually quite comfortable.

Callum made him strip afterwards, telling him now to put on the clothes in the second left-hand drawer of the desk. Julian stripped off, standing just in socks and trainers, and reached for the drawer. It was empty. He looked at Callum quizzically.

“Yes, I want you to wear that,” Callum said, indicating the empty drawer, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

Julian realised phase two of his plan. “You want me to work out naked. Seriously?”

“Yep. Lycra was easing you into it. Now it’s fully vulnerable and exposed.”

“I can’t work out naked; it will look ridiculous, everything flopping around down there.” Julian was frustrated.

“I’m the only one here.” Callum put his hands on Julian’s shoulders. “You have an amazing body, but yet you feel self-conscious of it at times, even with me. I want you to work out naked. I want to see your genitals flopping around, hot and sweaty. I’ll even wipe the equipment down behind you, but it’s all part of my,” at which point he lifted Julian’s dick up, “dedicated,” dropping it down, with a twang, “and structured,” cupping his balls, lifting the whole lot up, “training plan.” At which he dropped the whole lot, and they fell into their normal positions. Julian’s dick was already growing.

“I ‘L’ you, you fucking idiot,” Julian said, laughing as he bent forward to kiss him. By the time the kiss ended, he was fully erect...

Julian duly followed Callum’s training plan, stark bollock naked.

Although he had to be careful with a few exercises, and with a mixture of being fully and partly aroused the whole time with zero help from Callum, who insisted on either accidentally touching, teasing, or rubbing up against him, ultimately he actually found the whole experience quite liberating. But he said he did miss some support.

At the end of the session, Callum gave him a big hug and kiss, commenting, “If you’d now put the sweaty Lycra singlet back on, I’ll give you your reward in the bedroom,” as he looked lustfully over his shoulder, exiting the gym.

The second time that afternoon Julian put the suit on, it was a much quicker process, needing no help whatsoever.

***

Sunday 6th April 25

The air in the penthouse was thick with the scent of steamed white fish and asparagus, the grim reality of another cut meal. Julian sat at the marble kitchen island, staring at his dinner with the same intensity he usually reserved for hostile takeover bids. He looked hollow-cheeked, his trimmed beard a sharp contrast against his increasingly defined jawline.

“If I eat one more ounce of quinoa, I might actually fire my own Nutritionist.

Everything tastes so bland,” Julian growled, dropping his fork. It clattered loudly against the stone. Martha raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It pained her to serve this to him, but he’d asked her to keep him on plan.

Callum, who was busy logging Julian’s water intake on the iPad, looked up. He saw more than just a hungry man; he saw a man who was fraying at the edges. Julian hadn't slept more than four hours a night all week, trapped between completing the Chinese deal and a punishing exercise and diet schedule.

“Put the fork down,” Callum said decisively, sliding the iPad away. “Get your coat.”

Julian frowned. “I have another forty-five minutes of steady-state cardio to do yet according to the schedule, Callum, and I’m at a four hundred calorie deficit.”

“Exactly,” Callum countered, standing up. “You’re flat, you’re irritable, and your muscles are starting to look stringy. You don't need a treadmill; you need a refeed. And you're not getting it here. No disrespect, Martha, but we are going off-piste!”

Twenty minutes later, the G-Wagon crossed the bridge. “Where are we going?” Julian asked as they rolled into an unfamiliar neighbourhood.

“A place that doesn’t have a website or a menu,” Callum replied, guiding them to a dim backstreet in Bushwick.