Where There's A Will: Part 3

 The third, but not final chapter in HunkHunter's new series. Stay tuned for more SIZZLING action. 

Chapter Three

Ryley pushed open the double doors to the fitness center and stepped into a space that looked more like a cutting-edge athletic facility than a private gym tucked inside a Gothic manor. Rows of sleek weight machines, racks of gleaming dumbbells, and polished barbells occupied the glossy floor. Industrial lights hummed overhead, catching the chrome edges and glass panels in a sterile, modern glow that starkly contrasted the house’s dark, old-world charm.

At six-foot-one, 21 year old Ryley carried his 235-pound frame with the practiced confidence of a youth who knew every angle of his body. The smooth fabric of his T-shirt stretched around his torso, hugging the planes of his chest and the tight ridges of his abdominals. He could practically feel his muscles pulsing under the cloth—he was pumped with adrenaline, and his swollen biceps brushed the seams of his sleeves every time he flexed an arm.

He ambled deeper into the center, passing a wall lined with full-length mirrors, and paused to admire himself in the reflection. Setting his feet apart, he raised his arms and gave an ostentatious flex, the outline of his powerful shoulders and traps bulging beneath the shirt. He twisted slightly at the waist, turning to catch the taper of his torso and the V-shape that made him look like he was carved from stone. He ran a hand through his golden-blond hair and flashed a smug grin—thunderous outside or not, here he felt invincible. 

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, shifting angles to get a better view of his triceps. The overhead lights caught the distinct cut in his arms, and he exhaled in satisfaction. “All this talk of murder and fortunes. I need to look my best.”

He laughed quietly at his own vanity, then shrugged it off and moved on. He had more immediate desires than reflection at the moment—particularly that sweet glow on his skin that the tanning bed provided, which would keep him bronzed and photo-ready. Arnold had known exactly what Ryley wanted when he’d commissioned this space, gifting it to him on his twentieth birthday. Even the reinforced concrete walls and futuristic design had been tailored to Ryley’s taste—like a private bunker for his body-worship sessions.

He arrived at a large frosted-glass partition near the back of the gym, illuminated by soft violet lights that lined the edges of the glass. A sleek, digital control pad was mounted on the wall. Ryley tapped in his preferred settings with the easy confidence of someone who’d done it a hundred times before: just the right intensity to highlight every ripple on his body, but not so harsh it would risk the dreaded burn. Satisfied with the glowing numbers, he stepped forward as the heavy bunker-like door of the tanning room opened with a whoosh.

Stark white tile spread across the floor, meeting walls of bare concrete that loomed in thick, impenetrable slabs. In the center stood a tanning bed the size of a coffin—gleaming silver, its curved lid reflecting the overhead light. The bed looked almost ominous in its crisp perfection, like a futuristic sarcophagus waiting for its occupant.

Ryley paused on the threshold, his reflection captured on every glossy surface. He pulled off his T-shirt, tossing it aside, and ran a hand down his chest, feeling the hard ridges of his pecs and the solid wall of muscle below. He couldn’t help a slow, approving smile. Here, alone in his sanctum, he was free to indulge the pride he wore as shamelessly as his own skin.

“Better make it quick,” he muttered, eyes lingering on the bed’s sleek contours. He still had to freshen up before dinner—and who knew what kind of drama would unfold at the table. But for the next few minutes, at least, this space was his domain, and he’d worship himself in the glow that only a top-of-the-line tanning bed could provide.

Ryley let the door slide closed behind him with a pneumatic whisper, sealing himself into the soothing, high-tech sanctuary. He exhaled, one one hand braced on the tanning bed’s sleek lid, as a swarm of memories flooded him. The gentle hum of the unusually strong HVAC  system inside the tanning bed room overpowered by the recollection of countless afternoons poolside—a surreal tableau in which his every move had been under Arnold Mortimer’s watchful, perverse gaze. 

He remembered it vividly: the sun beating down on the estate’s opulent pool, pristine blue water shimmering like liquid glass. Ryley wore what could barely pass for swimwear—thongs so obscenely tiny that most of his sculpted hips and carved glutes were bare to the hot summer air. But it wasn’t just the cut of the fabric that made his stomach twist; it was how the thong did nothing to conceal the thick bulge between his legs, his staggering ten-inch endowment, even soft, and heavy hairless nuts obscenely ballooning the thin material. He’d strut around, forced to lug lounge chairs or fetch fresh towels, feeling the stare of that old man locked on him like a predator’s. It was humiliating—and lucrative.

Arnold would lounge beneath an oversized umbrella, the wrinkled skin around his knuckles taut as he gripped a sweaty glass of gin. His thinning gray hair, combed vainly to hide the balding crown, would rustle in the breeze, and the wide-lensed sunglasses perched on his liver-spotted nose weren’t enough to hide how his eyes were glued to Ryley’s every move. Often, Arnold’s hand would disappear beneath a silk robe—working and worming himself through the cloth without shame, tugging at his thin, grey cock. Sometimes he’d grunt loudly, never taking his gaze off Ryley’s body. It was a spectacle of both wealth and depravity, and the man reeked of over-applied cologne mixed with stale breath and old sweat. Even thinking of that sour odor made Ryley’s gut clench.

He’d forced himself to ignore it of course, focusing instead on the seductive lure of cash that came with every request. Arnold had been more than generous with those who indulged his appetites—Ryley was living proof. Yet while he’d tolerated Arnold’s blatant lechery, it never sat right with him. He was proud—some might say obsessed—with how perfectly he’d built his body. He wanted to be admired and lusted after, yes, but not by a skeletal old vulture who pawed at himself poolside. Still, the money had kept him there, had stayed his tongue. Sometimes all it took was one obscene check or a new toy—like this private tanning room—to soothe the revulsion.

Standing now in the hushed, cinderblock quiet, Ryley’s free hand roamed over his broad torso, remembering those afternoons he’d stand in full sunlight, sweat trickling down every contour of his shoulders, arms, and washboard abs. The thong’s tight string had clung desperately to his hips, framing the heavy bulge. He could still feel Arnold’s gaze—hungry, unapologetic—piercing him from the lounger. A helpless sense of shame would flicker through Ryley’s gut, warring with the erotic pulse his vanity: he loved the power his body gave him, but he loathed that the same perfection also rendered him an object for a frail old man’s pleasures. Yet even now, thinking of those times, he felt his massive cock throb in his pants. 

He swallowed, dragging the present back into focus: the polished tanning bed, the faint hum of the fans cycling air. He could almost see Arnold’s leering smirk, hear that coarse chuckle, and it made him bristle—despite the fact that Arnold was now lying embalmed in a coffin in the parlor. “Rot in hell,” he muttered under his breath, anger and relief swirling in equal measure. At least the bastard’s not staring anymore. 

His gaze flickered to a nearby mirror, where the reflection of his half-naked body caught him by surprise. He paused, almost mesmerized by the thick cords of muscle etched across his torso, the broad expanse of his chest, and the deep cut of his abs leading below his waistband. Even after so many sessions in front of mirrors—at the gym, by the pool, wherever he could show himself off—he still got a charge from looking at his own reflection.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice echoing in the stark room. He kicked off his shoes, shoved his pants down, and let them pool around his ankles. He paused a moment in just his snug briefs, admiring the way the white fabric cupped and strained around his imposing length. At least I’m my own biggest fan, he thought wryly.

He needed music. A techno beat would help banish these memories from his mind and make him enjoy his tan the way he wanted. He saw a Bluetooth speaker on a slim metal shelf and, within moments, had it hooked up to his phone. After selecting his party-pump playlist, he tossed his phone onto his clothes and began to rhythmically sway his hips. But as the techno music began to pulse, a small glimmer behind the speaker caught his eye. There was a bottle perched incongruously at the back of the slim metal shelf. The label read Cooked Goose—a brash, vaguely ridiculous name for tanning lotion, but one that delivered a burnished golden hue no matter how short the session. He remembered Arnold giving it to him once with a suggestive wink. Grimacing at the memory, Ryley picked up the bottle, noting how a thin layer of dust clung to its top. 

He eased his briefs down over his carved thighs, releasing himself fully, and couldn’t help but take one more lingering look in the mirror. His youthful babyface was contrasted with the imposing masterwork of his musculature, every muscle group in perfect proportion, from the heavy pecs to the sweeping thighs that flared like columns of granite. And of course, his most shameless asset hung with confident weight, even now stirring faintly as his blood pumped faster in the thrill of being completely bare. The sight of himself always made his huge cock swell. And, as usual, it was rising to the occasion. The massive member hardening even now, with the young stud’s heavy nuts aching for release.

Smirking at his own reflection, Ryley flipped the top of the lotion bottle and squeezed a generous dollop into his palm. He slapped on a heavy coating of the thick ooze across his muscles with practiced ease and effortlessness, making his already bronzed skin shine in the overhead lights. Another squeeze of the yellow substance into his palm and the cocky young hunk started to grease up the length of his cock and applied a generous amount of the tanning oil to his heavy nuts. He took another look at his reflection in the mirror and pushed himself into it, his hips flexing and bucking, enjoying the sensation as he pressed his bloated cock into the cool surface. He pressed his lips against the glass, closing his eyes, squeezing his nipples, making out with his reflection, as he pulled away he whispered "So. Fucking. Perfect."

Suddenly, the tanning bed emitted a sharp beep, followed by a loud BZZZT as the ultraviolet lights flickered to life, bathing the room in an eerie, blue glow. Ryley glanced back from his reflection, a cocky grin spreading across his chiseled face. "Time to get roasted," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

For good measure, the muscle-bound stud grabbed a generous handful of the "Cooked Goose" lotion and slathered it between the taut, rounded cheeks of his ass. He made sure to work the oil deep into the muscular cleft, his fingers sinking into the firm flesh as he massaged it in. Ryley's cock throbbed and pulsed as he touched himself, the sensation of the slick oil on his skin sending jolts of pleasure through his body.

With a grunt, Ryley lifted the glass roof of the tanning bed, the hydraulics whirring and clanking as it opened up like the gaping maw of some mythical beast. He climbed inside, his towering, blue-hued physique dwarfing the interior of the coffin-like bed. The UV lights cast an otherworldly glow over his pumped-up muscle bod, making his skin shimmer like polished marble.

Ryley settled back against the curve of the bed, his massive cock lying heavy and thick against his thigh as the lid began to close. The hydraulics hissed softly, leaving a narrow gap around the perimeter of the glass coffin. The immediate warmth began to arouse him. He soon reached under the heft of one muscular ass cheek and began to push a finger into his tight, puckering hole. The twenty-one year old groaned as the slick digit made its way inside.He could feel the heat building around him, the air growing thicker and more humid with each passing second.

As the temperature climbed, so too did Ryley's arousal. His massive cock, already semi-erect, began to swell and throb against his thigh. He could feel the thick, pulsing veins running along its length, the bulbous head flaring and leaking pre-cum onto the glass beneath him. Ryley's heavy, cum-filled balls churned and ached, drawn up tight against his body as his heart raced. His cock reached it’s full impressive length – 14 inches  of perfect, throbbing meat – and began to slap up against the warm acrylic of the tanning bed’s roof. The slickness of the grease gave it friction against the smooth surface, and the virile hunk began to push his hips upwards. Pre-cum soon began to drool from the tip, coating the rippling abdominals and thick lower-pectorals of the blond pool boy. 

Ryley's mind spun, desperate for something, anything to latch onto to bring him closer to the edge. Usually, the sight of his own perfect physique was enough to send him hurtling over, but with the reflection obscured by the intense heat and the frosted glass, he was left grasping

But as Ryley's fingers plunged deeper and his hips thrust harder, a disturbing image forced its way into his lust-addled mind. There, between his legs, leered the twisted visage of Arnold Mortimer. The old man's watery blue eyes, usually clouded with cataracts, now gleamed with a perverse hunger as he gazed upon Ryley's hungering muscleass and throbbing cock. In his mind's eye, Ryley could see Arnold's gnarled, liver-spotted hand wrapped around a withered, veined cock, stroking it to full, pathetic hardness as he loomed over the pool boy's prone form.

"Fuck, no..." Ryley groaned, trying to shake the disgusting image from his head. But it persisted, growing clearer and more vivid with each passing second. He could feel the phantom sensation of Arnold's rotting cock pushing against his slick, greased-up hole, the old man's ragged breaths hot and fetid against his skin. 

Ryley's cock throbbed harder, the head flaring a deep, angry red as it slapped against the acrylic roof with renewed vigor. His fingers plunged deeper into his ass, curling and scissoring as they sought to mimic the brutal, jackhammering thrusts of Arnold's imaginary cock.

As Ryley lay lost in his lustful reverie, a shadowy figure crept silently through the cavernous gym, their footsteps muffled by the pounding beat of techno music blaring from the bluetooth speaker perched atop the shelf by the bed. The figure moved with a purpose, their eyes fixed on the frosted glass window of the tanning room. They paused for a moment, listening to the barely discernible rhythmic slapping of flesh against glass and the muffled grunts of pleasure emanating from within, before reaching out and tapping at the sleek digital control panel.

Unbeknownst to the oblivious Ryley, the figure swiftly overrode the bed's pre-set temperature settings with deft taps and swipes on the screen. It flickered briefly before settling on a new, far more dangerous temperature: 1000°F. A sinister smile played across the figure's lips as they watched the digital display start to slowly creep upwards, degree by degree. 

Meanwhile, Ryley remained blissfully unaware, too consumed by his own pleasure to notice the shift in temperature. He continued to plunge his fingers deep into his greased-up hole, his massive cock slapping lewdly against the top of the tanning bed with each thrust of his hips. His heart raced and his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat in the intense, artificial heat. Watching in his mind as his former employer pounded him into oblivion.

With a guttural, animalistic roar, Ryley's massive, 14-inch member erupted like a volcano, spraying thick, hot ropes of cum inside the bed. His muscular body convulsed and shuddered as spurt after massive spurt of jizz splattered against the acrylic roof and walls of the bed. The sheer volume of Ryley's release was staggering, a testament to his youth, virility, and the intensity of his twisted arousal. Pearly white ropes of semen painted the warming glass, dripping down in obscene rivulets onto the musclebound youth, coating his slick muscles with gobs of semen.

Ryley's chiseled abs and sculpted chest heaved with each ragged, panting breath as he rode out the waves of his earth-shattering orgasm. His golden skin glistened with a sheen of sweat and the sticky remnants of his own release. And yet, even then, Arnold’s visage remained. More disturbingly, the bed felt as though it were getting hotter. 

Suddenly, the pounding techno music ceased, plunging the room into an eerie, unsettling silence. Before Ryley could ponder the sudden quiet, a recording of Arnold Mortimer's voice crackled to life over the Bluetooth speaker, making the young stud jolt in shock.

"Well, well, well... Ryley, my boy," Arnold's reedy, rasping voice echoed through the small space, sending a chill down Ryley's sweat-slicked spine despite the oppressive heat. "I must say, that was quite a performance. The way you came undone, lost in the throes of such base, carnal pleasure... it's almost poetic, in a way."

Ryley's heart raced, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He could feel the sticky remnants of his release warming on his skin, the coppery scent of his own semen thick in the air. Arnold's voice, a ghostly specter invading his post-orgasmic bliss, made his skin crawl.

"You've always been such a magnificent specimen, Ryley," Arnold continued, his tone dripping with a sickening mixture of praise and disdain. "That body of yours, honed to the point of perfection... and that cock. My, my, what a beast you've grown. I've never seen anything quite like it." 

“What the FUCK? Who’s doing this?!” Ryley shouted, trying to look out into the tanning room through the crack of the lid. How was this happening? The old man was dead in a coffin -- he'd seen it with his own eyes!

But then, Arnold's tone shifted, the praise turning to chastisement as swiftly as a switching blade. "Though I must say, I'm disappointed in your lack of restraint, your wanton indulgence in your own vanity. Did you truly think I wouldn't notice, that I wouldn't see the way you preened and posed, drunk on your own reflection? You're better than that, Ryley. Or at least, you should be."

As Arnold's words washed over him, Ryley suddenly became acutely aware of the temperature in the tanning bed skyrocketing, the heat intensifying to a painful, unbearable level. He tried to sit up, to reach for the lid, but found it wouldn't budge. Panic rising in his throat, Ryley pounded on the acrylic, the sound of his fists against the glass echoing like gunshots in the small, sweltering space. Ryley's eyes widened in horror as the realization of his predicament sank in. He pounded more frantically on the acrylic lid, screaming, "Let me out, you crazy old fuck! I can't breathe, it's too hot!" But the latch held fast, the mechanism clearly tampered with, trapping him in the increasingly hellish chamber.

Arnold's voice continued, a cruel laugh echoing through the speaker. "You always did love the heat of those summer days by the pool, didn't you Ryley? The way it made your golden skin glow, like the precious metal you are. Well, now you can bake in it, marinate in it, until you're cooked to perfection."

Ryley's skin burned, blisters forming on his flesh as the temperature climbed past the point of safety. The air shimmered with the intensity of the heat, making the world distort and warp in the sizzling haze. He could feel his muscles starting to seize, his lungs screaming for air as the oxygen was sucked out of the bed. 

"Please, please let me out!" Ryley begged, tears streaming down his face as the pain became unbearable. But Arnold's laughter only grew louder, crueler, a symphony of sadistic glee.

"This is your legacy, Ryley," Arnold's voice boomed, drowning out the young stud's pleas.”I am giving you what you’ve always wanted – to be the hottest man in the room!” 

A sardonic laugh filled the room as the UV lights began to crackle and pop beneath the acrylic. The recording of Arnold's voice abruptly ended, plunging the room into a momentary silence before the techno music exploded back to life, cranked to an earsplitting volume. The driving beat and electronic wails drowned out the sound of Ryley's desperate screams, the music masking the young stud's agony as the temperature in the bed rocketed to unimaginable heights.

Ryley’s huge musculature strained and screamed as he tried to push open the lid, his perfect golden skin now an angry red and splitting apart with blisters. The hunky stud was now wildly trying to slam his weight into the roof of the bed, desperate to get it to open, his huge semi-hard cock flopping around, the skin on its thick, long length beginning to blister and crack. The Fat Goose oil on his skin had started to go caustic, severely burning it under the exposure of the UV light, the once beautiful smooth skin now turning firey red.

Suddenly, the acrylic glass surrounding Ryley began to groan and shudder, the material strained to its limits by the infernal heat. Ryley's eyes widened in primal terror as the first cracks appeared, spiderwebbing across the glass like a shattered mirror. He threw his muscular arms up to shield his face, but it was too late.

With a deafening, explosive crack, the acrylic glass shattered into a thousand razor-sharp shards. The jagged pieces exploded inward, slicing and piercing Ryley's skin with ruthless efficiency. Screaming in agony, the young hunk thrashed and writhed as the glass tore into his flesh, opening up deep, bloody gashes across his once-perfect body.

Ryley's blood splattered the interior of the bed, the crimson liquid sizzling and hissing as it hit the molten acrylic. The scent of cooking flesh and copper filled the air, a sickening aroma that made the eyes water and the stomach churn. Ryley's screams reached a fever pitch as the pain consumed him.

As the shattered glass tore into Ryley's flesh, the searing heat inside the bed intensified to a hellish degree. The young stud's skin, once a flawless golden hue, began to turn a sickening shade of red as the heat melted away the moisture, leaving it as dry and cracked as parched earth. Ryley's screams reached a new level of anguish as he felt the skin on his muscular body start to blister, then bubble, before finally sloughing off in smoldering sheets.

Beneath the disintegrating skin, Ryley's muscles began to melt like wax, the scorching heat reducing the once-massive, sculpted flesh to sizzling meat, his massive cock roasting like a kebab.

Ryley's eyes bulged out of their sockets, the whites sizzling and popping as the heat consumed them. His vision blurred and darkened at the edges, the world shrinking to a pinprick of light before plunging into inky blackness. All the while, his hair ignited like a crown of flames, the golden locks bursting into a fiery inferno that only added to the apocalyptic scene.

The bed itself, unable to withstand the unearthly heat, began to warp and buckle. The molten acrylic dripped and flowed like lava, the metal frame twisting and contorting as if possessed by a demonic force. With a deafening roar, the bed erupted into a towering inferno, the flames leaping and dancing with a hunger that could not be sated. The techno music from the speaker warping and ending abruptly as the electronic device melted.

Ryley's charred, melting body thrashed and spasmed in the heart of the blaze, his skin sloughing off in blackened, flaking sheets. The stench of seared flesh and hair filled the room The young stud's once-perfect physique was reduced to a grotesque, misshapen husk, the muscles melting away like candle wax until only a charred skeleton remained, flames whipping around it in an inferno.

Through the frosted glass window of the tanning room, an eerie, flickering orange glow pulsed and danced, casting twisted shadows on the wall beyond. The unknown figure stood motionless, observing the hellish spectacle opaquely unfolding within the sealed chamber. The stranger's eyes, hidden beneath the shadows of their hood, gleamed with a wicked satisfaction.

The figure let out a low, dark chuckle, the sound echoing through the empty fitness center like whisper from the abyss. They knew all too well what was happening to the hunky pool boy trapped in that room. The fireproofing, the sealed vents, the reinforced door... it had all been meticulously planned, every detail designed to ensure that the flames would have no escape, no outlet.

With a final, contemptuous laugh, the stranger stepped away from the window, the flickering glow illuminating the cruel curve of their smile. The fire inside would rage as it consumed all the oxygen in the tanning room until it finally snuffed itself out safely behind the concrete walls. Turning away from the frosted glass, the figure strode purposefully back through the gym, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence that they left behind.