You lie flat on your back, staring up at buff RnB king Nelly. Your eyes wander up his mammoth white/blue Nikes; his bulging calves; sawdust-coloured knees; his blazing red basket-ball style shorts; his glistening washboard abs which look ready to pop right off of his stomach. He licks his fat pink lips, wrapping one training-gloved hand around you. "I know just where you goin', little man." ...Two hours later Nelly climbs out of his shower, thick sausage and heavy balls swinging between his flexing thighs, and fishes you out of his gym bag. Clean air, free of the ripe stench of sweat-soaked jocks and nasty gym-socks, is a shock to your system. "Please- Please never-" You gasp, but the muscle-bound Goliath ignores you, placing you on the crack of his elbow. He watches you with a sly smile, then flexes his massive bicep - You're soon clenched between the rippling brown bicep and popping muscles of his forearm. An angry vein throbs, jammed against your face and you struggle to breathe, your ribs ready to snap...
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