Where There's A Will: Part 5

Chapter Five

Brent’s pulse hammered in his throat as Gibson lurched closer, eyes glinting with hungry appraisal. The young quarterback refused to back down, even as heat flooded his cheeks under that lecherous gaze. He lifted his chin, forcing an edge of defiance into his stare, but there was no hiding how the scrutiny set every nerve alight.

“I work hard for this,” he declared, voice taut with both pride and trepidation. In a subtle flourish, he tightened his core, letting muscle ripple beneath the thin cloth of his shirt. “Star quarterback at Bullcock Academy — I gotta stay in top form.”

Gibson answered with a derisive snort, mouth curving in a sneer as he took a deep swig of whiskey. “Oh, is that so?” he taunted, lowering the bottle. “Let’s see what all that training amounts to underneath that cute little outfit.”

A chill ghosted across Brent’s skin at the crude tone, but he refused to let it shake him. Without speaking, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and peeled it off in a slow, deliberate display, revealing his torso inch by salacious inch. Light glimmered across the rows of his abdomen, hard-won and impeccably defined by endless drills, weight sessions, and ruthless discipline. At 6'2 and 255lbs of muscle, the young 18 year old jock-stud was a god come to life.

“Not an ounce of fat on you,” Gibson murmured, as though assessing livestock. His ruddy features betrayed an unsettling fascination. “Coach must run you ragged.” 

Brent let the shirt drop beside him, crossing his arms over the deep curves of his pecs. A faint smirk tugged his lips. “You have no idea,” he said, the smallest flicker of amusement beneath his bravado. “Coach doesn’t even let me jerk off—says it keeps my testosterone high.”

He paused, waiting to see if Gibson would flinch. When the older man merely raised a brow, Brent clenched his jaw and pressed on, a spark of reckless pride in his hazel eyes. “And I meant it when I said I was a virgin. No sex, no… release. Not once in my life.” He planted his hands on his hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his shorts as he flexed his chest and abs for good measure. The effect was mesmerizing, every ridge and hollow of his midsection jumping out in stark relief.

Gibson’s bushy eyebrows shot up, and a glimmer of disbelief flickered across his face. “Is that right?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Eighteen years old, built like a tank, and never even jerked off that fuckin' bull cock of yours?" He shook his head in amazement. "Hell, no wonder you’re so damn big. Must be carting around enough juice to knock someone through a goddamn wall!”

Even though a prickle of revulsion snaked down his spine at Gibson’s crass delight, Brent felt a thrill stab through him. There was undeniable power in the way this older man—overfed, boorish, and flush with potential fortune—was so openly captivated by what Brent could offer. None of the other men in the manor could claim this kind of untouched allure; it was Brent’s hidden trump card. If seducing a fat slob like Gibson was the only path to a piece of Arnold’s riches, then so be it. 

“I’m offering everything,” Brent said, voice dropping into a deep register he hardly recognized in himself. “All of me, every inch. I want to prove I’m worthy of a share. Let me show you just what this young, hungry stud can really do.”

He wasted no time. Hooking his thumbs deeper into his sweatpants, he yanked them down in one swift move. The elastic hissed over his carved thighs, revealing the swollen heft of his manhood—a semi-erect length that seemed to pulse in the open air. Standing tall, he studied Gibson’s reaction, letting his own hand slide over the thickening shaft with a provocative, deliberate stroke. Blood thundered in his ears as he felt the dizzy rush of his own arousal, and he lifted his gaze in challenge.

Gibson’s reaction was a slack-jawed marvel that twisted quickly into a lustful grin. Brent, emboldened by that flicker of awe, toyed with his swelling flesh, half of him disgusted, the other half exultant in the raw potency of his youth.

He swallowed, forcing a smirk. “I told you,” he said, arching his back to make every abdominal line pop. “Never once. Imagine… how much I’ve got saved up.”

A thick, tense silence followed, broken only by Gibson’s ragged exhale and the faint hum of overhead lights. Thunder rattled the manor’s distant windows, echoing the pulse of anticipation that pounded in Brent’s chest. In that moment, he felt both powerful and vulnerable, caught between his body’s demands and the dangerous game they were all playing. But if there was ever a moment to roll the dice, this was it.

Gibson’s jaw slackened in shock as he caught sight of Brent’s towering length, veined and thick, and gleaming with a provocative sheen. He fumbled his whiskey bottle, sending it clattering to the floor in a clumsy show of disbelief, his gaze riveted to the obscene display of youth and virility in front of him.

“Sweet fucking CHRIST,” he murmured, voice cracking as he forced his attention upward. His own arousal became plain enough, pressing a bulge against the faded, sagging fabric of his trousers. “I’ve never seen any guy your age packing equipment like that.”

Brent, no stranger to flaunting his body, let the corner of his mouth curl in a self-assured smirk. His hand slid confidently along the thick column of flesh, stroking it with a slow, steady rhythm that accentuated every prominent vein. The final traces of hesitation burned away, replaced by heady triumph.

“You like what you see?” he challenged, each word a brush of brazen self-admiration. “Haven’t measured in a while, but the last time was well over fifteen inches. And that was way before I turned eighteen last week.”

Gibson’s gaze slid lower again, as though unable to tear himself from the sight. “At your age, big as a damned stallion,” he muttered, half in disbelief, half in crude fascination. “No wonder your coach wanted you saving your load.”

Brent could feel his own ego inflating with Gibson’s every startled word, and he cocked his hips in a near-taunt. “I told you,” he murmured, letting his voice drop into a sultry register, “there’s a lot I’ve been saving up… nowhere for it to go. You won’t find that in any of these other guys.”

He didn’t hide the note of satisfaction that crept into his tone. This was his wild card: none of the other men in the manor—regardless of their muscle, endowment, or sexual prowess—could boast total innocence, a complete lack of release. The old bastard would be getting something rare indeed, and the thought sparked an odd thrill that surged through Brent’s blood.

Gibson inched closer, the floor groaning beneath his weight. His breath rasped, pulse visibly pounding in his neck. “So you can stand there with your cock out, sure. But that don’t impress me—not yet,” he growled. “I need a real look before I start deciding how much you’re worth.”

Before Brent could reply, Gibson’s pudgy hand reached up and seized one of the teen’s sculpted pecs, fingers sinking into the firm, youthful muscle. The older man’s eyebrows twitched in lascivious approval as he discovered the marble-like resilience beneath his grip. Brent suppressed a flinch at that rough touch, forcing himself instead to arch into it, letting Gibson feel the raw strength thrumming under his skin.

“Well?” Brent asked, breathing just a fraction quicker, body humming with a dark mix of eagerness and revulsion. “You going to make up your mind?”

Gibson gave a snort, half-laugh, half-lust. “I’ll let you know when I’ve seen enough. ’Til then…” His free hand hovered near the heavy, pulsing shaft of Brent’s cock, as though he couldn’t quite commit to touching it without savoring the anticipation first.

Brent, feeding off the tension, slid his hand along his own length again, showing off the wet gleam crowning its swollen head. A heady swirl of adrenaline and desire coursed through him—this bizarre, decadent game was as thrilling as it was appalling. But he steeled his nerve. If this was how to win a stake in Arnold’s fortune, then so be it.

Gibson’s calloused hand clamped over Brent’s sculpted pec, fingers delving into the tight muscle as though testing a cut of premium steak. The older man’s lips parted in something approaching awe, and a low, appreciative grunt rumbled from his throat.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice thick with unvarnished greed. “That’s a hell of a piece of meat.” He grinned slightly. "Perfect for some tenderizing..."

He reached over with his free hand, giving the other pec the same rough inspection, then slid his palms down the rippling terrain of Brent’s torso. Each ridge of the teenager’s abs stood out beneath that wandering grip, carved and honed by hours of football training and sheer, youthful vitality. Brent felt a hot shiver trace his spine at the contact—an unsettling blend of unsettling thrill and raw discomfort. He’d never let anyone touch him like this, never invited such stark, hungry exploration, and the conflicting sensations made his pulse hammer in his ears.

Gibson’s hands roamed lower still, grazing the contours of Brent’s hips, then pressing firmly against the solid swell of his thighs. Finally, he reached the full, weighted sac beneath Brent’s erection, lifting it with a blunt curiosity that made Brent’s breath catch. The older man cupped and tested the heft of those heavy testicles as though assessing prized goods, kneading the warm flesh with a coarse, almost businesslike approval.

“Now that’s a serious set of balls,” Gibson growled. “You must have gallons stored up in here. I just wonder how far a thoroughbred like you’s willing to go… to prove you deserve a slice of Mortimer’s fortune.” He suddenly grasped the head of Brent's enormous cock, causing a surge of precum to drizzle out the head. The rough handling made Brent grunt.

Gibson then released, only to smear thick fluid across the young man’s lips—precum gleaned from the swollen head of Brent’s cock. The older man’s eyes glinted with a  pleasure as he watched Brent’s throat tighten.

“Go on,” Gibson rasped. “Taste it. Show me how bad you want this.”

A ripple of hesitation flickered in Brent’s hazel eyes, but the heady, unfamiliar sensation of being on this razor’s edge—of leveraging the raw power in his untested body—overrode his misgivings. His tongue slipped out, grazing that salty hint of his own arousal. The taste spread across his lips, sending a dizzying shock of excitement through him. 

“I’ll do anything,” he heard himself whisper, hardly believing the desperation in his own voice. “Anything to prove myself—to show you I’m worthy.”

Gibson’s mouth curved in a coarse smile. “Anything, huh?”

Digging into his pocket, he produced a slender length of black silk—a worn blindfold. The older man dangled it in front of Brent’s face. “Put this on,” he ordered, stepping back a half pace and letting the challenge hover.

Brent’s heart jackhammered in his chest. A flicker of fear mingled with the adrenaline still pounding in his veins. He threw a quick glance at Gibson’s lust-filled eyes, then took the blindfold and secured it snugly around his head. Darkness swallowed his vision, sharpening every breath and every rustle of clothing into a tense new sensation.

“That’s good,” Gibson murmured, leaning in until Brent felt the humid puff of breath against his cheek. “Follow my lead and maybe—just maybe—I’ll see you as more than some dumb jock with a big package.”

His hands came at Brent again, more aggressive this time, sweeping over bare skin and thoroughly mapping every inch. He caught Brent’s nipples, rough thumbs rolling and pinching until the sensitive nubs stood erect, and Brent bit back a groan of mingled shock and reluctant pleasure. Then Gibson’s mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, trailing over the lines of Brent’s abs in hot, wet swipes that left an electric current beneath Brent’s skin.

Brent’s breath hitched, each rasp echoing in the silent, sterile atmosphere of the gym. Every muscle quivered under the older man’s questing fingers, from the thick cords running along Brent’s neck to the defined ridges leading down his hips. The youth fought the urge to flinch away, forcing himself to endure the uncomfortable surge of need, the mingling of revulsion and power. With his sight erased by the blindfold, every sensation amplified—the prick of stubble against his chest, the abrasive warmth of Gibson’s palm on his stomach, the hush of Gibson’s ragged breathing.

Gibson’s stubby fingertips traced the deep V lines at Brent’s lower abdomen, a deliberate approach to the most sensitive area of all. He savored the tremor that rolled through Brent, the uncertain little hitch in his breath. Part of Brent wanted to shove the man off, to reject the humiliating attention—but he stifled the instinct, recalling the mansion’s gloom, Arnold’s mocking instructions, and the promise of a life-altering fortune at stake. 

One night, he told himself, strangling a sudden surge of panic. One night, and I can walk away with everything. Or at least enough to matter.

Clenching his jaw, Brent forced himself to remain still, letting Gibson’s hands crawl over him like creeping ivy. This was the price, and he had pledged to pay it—even if his heart slammed so loudly in his ears, he feared it might tear free of his chest.

Gibson’s hand, thick and rough at the fingertips, drifted lower with increasing boldness, brushing over Brent’s hot, tight hole. He traced a slow circle around that tightly clenched ring, feeling the flutter of the quarterback’s virgin heat beneath his touch.

“Let’s see just how badly you want this,” he muttered, voice low and edged with lust. Without further warning, he leaned into Brent, pressing his middle finger against the resistant muscle until it yielded and let him slide inside.

The muscleboy’s groan tore through the hush of the gym, arching his spine in startled pleasure and shock. His cock gave a sharp jerk, and several thick lines of precum jetted from his rock-hard jock cock and spattered across the floor. The echoes of his moan lingered in the air, mingling with the distant growl of thunder beyond the manor’s walls.

A dark satisfaction lit Gibson’s eyes at Brent’s reaction. He began a measured rhythm, pumping his finger in and out as Brent’s untouched walls flexed around him, struggling to cope with the intrusion. Each thrust left Brent’s cock pulsing, its swollen head spurting more fluid onto the polished tiles.

“There it is,” Gibson purred, his tone dripping with a cruel sort of approval. “You been hiding this tight ass all your life, and now it’s mine to try out.”

He sank a second finger in alongside the first, wrenching a rough groan from Brent’s lips. Scissoring and twisting them, he forced the young man’s body to stretch around the invasion. Meanwhile, his other hand found its way to Brent’s broad chest, fingers pinching at a nipple until it stiffened with a blend of pain and pleasure. Brent’s breath rushed in frantic spurts, and he reflexively rocked his hips backward, torn between fleeing the discomfort and chasing the perverse spark it ignited.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck…fuck…” Brent chanted, voice ragged. His massive cock leapt each time Gibson’s free hand bit into his pec or flicked at his nipple, and he could feel a gathering storm of unfamiliar sensation mounting inside him, somewhere between raw shame and dizzy excitement. Even these clumsy, heated fingers threatened to topple him over the edge of a first orgasm he’d never thought could happen like this.

Then, abruptly, Gibson yanked his hand free. The sudden emptiness drew a ragged gasp from Brent, who involuntarily bucked forward, as if wanting to reclaim the fleeting pleasure. Chest heaving, he felt the cool air against his slick, stretched entrance, the muscles still spasming from the intrusion.

Gibson eyed the young man’s thick, bobbing cock with a sneering sort of fascination before letting his gaze stray to a nearby cable weight machine. His voice was a deliberate, measured rumble when he spoke: “Not convinced yet, boy. You’re just another donkey-dicked jock until I see what else you can do.”

He stepped in so close Brent could feel his wheezing breath ghosting against his neck. “There’s a seat on that machine. Get over there and bend over it,” Gibson ordered, with a grin that hinted at all manner of debauchery. “Let’s see if you live up to this so-called prime body of yours.”

The blindfold still swallowed Brent’s world, every nuance of sound and scent magnified tenfold. Fear battled with determination. He swallowed the lump in his throat, forging the courage to nod, to prove, if only for one twisted night, that he had what it took to claim more than just the high school football spotlight.

"I'll do it," Brent heard himself say, his voice strained but determined. "I'll do whatever you want, Gibson.”