Page 14 of Master Daddy

Strong. Flexible. Completely in command of his body.

Wowzers.

A hot little tingle races straight between my legs and up to my dick. I stop dead just inside the entrance, half-hidden behind a row of cardio machines, and just… stare.

God, he’s beautiful. Not in a polished, gym-bro way. In a rugged, mountain-man-who-could-throw-you-over-his-shoulder way.

And I’m all there for it.

I feel my nipples tingle just a little underneath my sports top and my cock is now very much in semi-hard territory. I press my thighs together and bite my lip, imagining those big hands gripping me instead of his own leg…

Holding me down.

Moving me exactly where he wants me.

If Mason decided he wanted something from me, I wouldn’t have a single physical chance of stopping him. The thought sends another rush of heat through me so strong I have to swallow a tiny whimper.

Mason straightens up, turns, and our eyes lock instantly. A slow, knowing smile curves his mouth. He crooks two fingers at me in a clear come here gesture.

Busted.

My cheeks flood with heat as I walk over, trying to look casual and failing miserably. My legs feel wobbly.

“Morning, little one,” Mason says, voice low and gravelly. “Early. That’s good. Now stretch. This is going to be a tough session.”

The words little one hit me like a sparkler going off in my belly. I drop my bag and start my usual dynamic warm-up, but my mind is nowhere near my hamstrings. All I can think about is Mason towering over me, those thick arms caging me in, his deep voice telling me exactly what to do while I squirm and beg…

I’d let him. I’d want him to. The fantasy loops so vividly I almost miss when he steps closer to correct my shoulder position, his big hand warm and firm on my upper back.

“Deeper,” Mason murmurs. “Good boy.”

I nearly melt into the mat.

Warm-up finishes way too quickly. My body is buzzing, partly from the movement, mostly from the six-foot-plus wall of Daddy energy standing next to me.

“Bench press first,” Mason announces, already walking toward the rack like it’s decided. “That’s the priority for your contest with Milo. Once we nail that, we’ll hit some shoulder press and lateral raises.”

I nod, then remember my glutes. “Wait… I always train glutes no matter what. Hip thrusts at the end at least?”

Mason stops and turns, one dark eyebrow raised.

“Not in my program you don’t,” Mason says. “There’ll be glutes work in there, but not the first session and certainly not at the top of the workout.”

I feel my lower lip push out before I can stop it. Full pout mode.

“But my glutes⁠—”

“My way or the highway, Luke.” Mason says as his voice drops into that stern register that makes my stomach flip and my cock throb at the same time. “You want to get stronger and win? Then you follow the plan. Understood?”

I hesitate, cheeks burning, but the authority in his tone wins.

“Yes, Sir,” I mumble, the sir slipping out before I can catch it.

Mason gives a satisfied grunt and loads the bar.

We start the bench routine. Mason spots me like a hawk—hands hovering, eyes sharp. He only lets me work up to sixty percent of what I know I can handle.

The sets feel too easy.