Overview
Pervert thief Lance Longstrom has a kink for chasing the the dirty laundry of handsome guys... literally! But when he's caught filching a load of sweaty clothes from exclusive male-only gym Club Apollo, Lance is banished to a secret gay workout suite where he finds himself pumping more than just iron...
WARNING: Locker Room Thief is an 8300-word short story intended for ADULTS ONLY! Contains scent perversions, masturbation, oral, anal, orgasm denial, interracial, multiple threesomes, wrestling, domination, massage, group sex, bukkake, first time Lucky Pierre, and a filthy, sweaty climax you'll never forget.
EXCERPT:
The top two floors of the high-rise had been converted into a greenhouse-like atrium. The sun shone overhead, casting the shadows of weight machines, pull-up bars, and gymnastics frames onto a hardwood floor scattered with black lifting mats. To one side up on a raised “island”, hot guys puffed, jamming out to headphones while their sweat dripped onto cycle control panels, treadmills, and rowing machines. Every guy in the gym --- from the elfin dude doing jumping jacks to the macho lifter grunting out squats under a 350-pound load --- was extraordinarily attractive.
I figured there must have been some kind of entrance exam or application to join Club Apollo --- there was no other explanation for the superb quality of male flesh on display. (Another thing, no women were present... the fact suggested that there was more to this gym than met the eye... but I didn't know what...)
This bright and rarefied space, high above the grime of the city, was obviously where the city’s wealthiest and most beautiful men came to take their bodies to the next level. Here, straining under gleaming barbells and free-weights, slim physiques tight with dynamic tension would achieve new heights of definition, while butcher types would further inflate their macho chests, bubble asses, and heroic quads.
An impression of Apollinian excellence, of coldly methodical advancement to physical perfection, presided over this exclusive gym.
(And if that was the case, then I would be a Dionysian thief, drunk on perverted desires I couldn’t control, craving to completely lose the boundaries of myself in a labyrinth of ripe ball-sweat and pungent pit-stains.)
My stiffy tented the fly of my jumpsuit disguise.
I made a beeline for the locker rooms, loitering in a restroom stall (I jerked it a little, though not to climax) while I waited for the area to clear. When it did, I zipped out and found the laundry hamper. It was conveniently placed by the shower-room entrance. I approached it, my heart pounding...
Sweet perspiration soaked through every fiber of the laundry heaped in the hamper.
Jockstraps, gym shorts, those cute American Apparel briefs with the white seam, Calvin Kleins, high-end underwear styles I'd never even heard of... not to mention a-shirts, t-shirts, singlets...
The scent of all that fresh manly sweat almost made me want to jerk off right there and then, regardless of the consequences. But on the other hand, a place like Club Apollo was probably quite serious about security. And I knew denying myself release would only make me cum all the harder later, in the privacy of my apartment, as I sniffed samples faster and faster...
