Gay Erotic Stories

THE SECRET STUDIO copyright (c) 1996, 1997 Jaye Stregyr, all rights reserved worldwide. This story may be freely transmitted, stored or printed, electronically or as hard copy, without the author's permission under the following conditions only: (1) no change may be made to the text of the story; (2) the story must be left attached to the title, author line, copyright, and this paragraph. Author's notes: Although I didn't commit pen to paper (or, more appropriately, cursor to file) until 1996, I've been working on the plot & ideas in this story for quite some time (i.e., years). Between 1996 and now, the story has been re-edited extensively, proofread by friends, scanned for continuity and formatted in various ways: yet the story has changed little. As you go through the story, it will be clear to most readers which well-known celebrity I imagine as "playing the role" of the main female character (note I do not say "villain" or "antagonist", as I really don't see her in such a light -- there are no bad guys nor good guys here. The characters are simply themselves). It would please me to no end to see "The Secret Studio" adapted as a TV screenplay in half-hour format (say, like HBO's "Tales Of The Crypt") with the delightful Ms. Bernhard acting as the lead. Other than that, the resemblance of the people in the story to anyone living or dead is coincidental. Some may find the erotica presented in this story rather tame: it's not so much a "sex" story as it is a "petriphilic fetish" story (though I'm curious as to what Professor Paglia's opinion might be). On the other hand, others may be more prurient. In any event, it is assumed that the reader is a mature adult, as requested for entry by the manager of this web site. Please enjoy. -- Jaye Stregyr, 10 April 1998. "C'MON!! Don't wimp out on me, you shithead! Go fer nine! C'mon, asshole!..." "Hhuaaahhh!" Vinnie grunted heavily as he pumped the bar slowly upward from his prone body. Sweat collected along the striations of his mighty chest and ran into the deep cleavage between his pectorals. Under the effort, they twitched at high frequency as if stimulated by an electric charge. The veins on his arms formed a net of swollen ribbons engorged with blood. Two hundred pounds of iron clinked softly at its apex as he paused. He huffed like a locomotive, his brows knotted in extraordinary concentration. "O. K! Way t'go!" encouraged Mike, clapping for his buddy. "Now -- down one more time an' let's go fer an even ten. C'mon! You kin do it, Vin'!" The spotter held his giant hands gently alongside the upper arms of his workout partner as the bar descended. His guiding palms pressed lightly with his long thick muscular fingers curling partway around Vinnie's rockhard triceps. "Don't be a fuckin' wuss, paisan!" The athlete on the bench prepared for his tenth press, his cheeks puffing out a staccato rhythm, the iron hovering just over his stiff and reddened nipples. "Punch the sucker up!" shouted Mike, "Do it -- NOW!!" "AAAARRGH!!" roared Vinnie through quivering lips, his eyes bulging wide. The weights blasted up one last time in triumph, held tight in his rosinned grip. "... Ten! Aw'right!!" said Mike, clapping his hands in applause. "Ooof!" exhaled Vinnie in relief as he set the bar in place. He sat up from the bench and ran a hand over his beet-red pecs. "Who-o-o-oa, man, that'sa nice burn! I feel so fuckin' ripped!" "Y'know, I'm so glad you tol' me about this place, Vin," Mike commented, slapping his friend on his wide shoulder. "This setup's fuckin' fantastic!" The two bodybuilders, both in their late twenties, were reaching the end of a long heavy workout. "So, like, who'dya think set this all up?" asked Mike. "Don't know, don't care" said the smaller athlete with a grin, twisting to and fro at his waist to examine the image of his flexing form in a wall mirror. Both had disrobed to their shorts in the warm chamber after their jog to the place. Mike's rugged heavyweight physique outsized Vinnie in both height and mass. Yet after years of honing his body to perfection, the smaller bodybuilder was still the slightly more defined of the two. "All I know is few of the guys from Gold's came runnin' up here one day. Dennis found the cave by pure luck, 'way I hear." "C'mon, yer shittin' me," countered Mike, waving his arm at the room. "Everything here?" "I kid you not, pal," replied Vinnie. "All this great stuff was all inside, just like y'see it now. We couldn't believe it." Indeed, the well-equipped weight gym was in a most unlikely location, situated inside a cave several miles up into the southern California hills. The cavern walls and floor threw back the soft but ample lighting from dozens of light panels in the ceiling. With mirrors propped all around the perimeter of the chamber to reflect the light, the low-level illumination was increased considerably. Vinnie continued to use the nearest mirror to examine his well-pumped body. "Man, it's, like, paradise in here." nodded Mike. "I mean, sure, y'gotta run by foot t'get up here. But everythin' y'ever want's here. An' y'got total privacy." Other than the equipment, only a few low boulders were scattered around the rough 50 by 60 foot cave. Recessed from the outside woods by a bending corridor, the cavern interior was hidden from prying eyes. One other natural doorway existed, but it was a dark exit leading in the opposite direction, further into the hillside. "Yeah, the privacy's fuckin' great!" Vinnie agreed. "Most we ever get up here is two to four guys at a time. And we make sure only the best of us know about it here." With a wagging finger, he said to Mike, "So don't you go pissin' off y'mouth about this place to just anyone." "Hey, my lips're sealed," replied Mike, lying down for some more bench presses. "These guys out here in LA sure know how t'live. Not like them crowded gyms we had back East. Comin' out here, we pretty much got it made, paisan." A minute of silence passed as Vinnie kept examining his reflection. Mike finished working on his chest, then joined him at the mirror. Both were a little winded at the end of a most strenuous free-style workout. They'd cycled through every known routine, rotating the exercises while pushing their physiques to the limit of endurance. Legs, arms, abs, shoulders, back: they covered every body part in muscle-pumping discipline. Their torsos sweated and swelled in titanic exertion, each finely honed in endless repetition. The two men were greatly pleased with the results. The larger man tossed his tremendous arms around Vinnie's shoulders, giving his workout partner a firm and sweaty hug from behind. Vinnie looked at him in the mirror with a pleasing smile, putting a hand on Mike's forearm. With a bigger smile on his face, Mike's other big arm meandered down Vinnie's torso and rested that hand on the front of his partner's shorts. Vinnie smacked it away playfully. "Down, boy," he said quietly. "Who, me...?" asked Mike innocently. "Or that snake in yer shorts?" "Time enough for that later," Vinnie replied with amusement. My partner, he thought: the incredible fuck machine. They held each other for some seconds and then, with a flick of his hand, Mike gestured along the wall towards the entry to the inner passage from the gym. He asked, "So like, wha'dya think's back there?" Vinnie shrugged his massive shoulders with a sigh. "Don't really know. Some of the other guys said to keep outta there. Supposed to be dangerous or something." "Aww, what're y'afraid of? You fuckin' chicken-shit?" Mike challenged, tossling Vinnie's short buzz-cut hair with a big hand. "Buck buk-buk byock-buk!" he clucked sarcastically. "Shit, you asshole..." he replied with a grimace. "It's probably full of rats, pits and mazes. Y'know, a guy can get hurt or lost in a cave if he don't know what he's doing." "So, any of them guys ever try spalun-... spoolonk-..." Mike gave up on the word in frustration. "... Explorin'?" "None that I know of. But, umm... come to think of it," Vinnie said looking up at Mike, "no one's seen Dennis in a few days." A serious look crossed his face. "Maybe..." "Maybe a big boogerman got'im!" his partner laughed, his heavy masculine features lighting up with jest. Mike pursed his wide lips and he bugged his eyes out under his thick brows, going, "OoOoOoOoo!..." Vinnie laughed along with him. My partner, the joker, he thought. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, asshole." He reached for his shirt, wiping the white powder off his hands and sopping up the glistening layer of pungent sweat coating his muscular body. Sniffing lightly, he asked, "Man, is it time for a shower, or what?" In response, Mike lifted his powerful arms over his shoulders, stretching the lats of his wide V-shaped torso, also drenched in an ocean of sweat. He inhaled long and deep at the space under his pits. "Mmmmm..." he groaned with smile. "Hey, I don' smell that bad, do I?" he asked playfully, grinning through his scruffy shadow of day-old stubble. "Are you kiddin'?" laughed Vinnie. "There ain't no bugs in this cave 'cause your stench gassed 'em out." But in actuality, neither longtime partner found the smell of other offensive. Together they felt very comfortable surrounded by the familiar testosterone-laden cloud of their joint daily exertion. Each was pleased to breathe deep the heady aroma of their warm masculine power. Vinnie reached for and pulled his muscle-shirt tightly over his bulging arms and torso, the fabric stretching taut in a most satisfying manner. "I gotta head back. You ready to go?" "Nah," replied Mike, flexing in the mirror, studying his form with a practiced eye. "I'm gonna stay'n blast my delts s'more today. They ain't feelin' big enuff." "Heh, you pump them shoulders up any bigger, you're gonna need a whole new fuckin' wardrobe... an' we're short on closet space," Vinnie joked as he moved to leave. "Just remember, Mikey," he added seriously, "take it easy while you're up here alone. Don't go wandering off an' gettin' yerself lost. 'Specially where it's dark, OK?" Mike waved him off twiddling his big fingers. He called out in a goofy falsetto, "yeah, sweetie, I'll be a good little boy for mommy." The smaller bodybuilder shook his head and grinned back over his shoulder at his partner, playfully groaning, "ahh... you fuckin' shithead." With a wave, Vinnie trotted out through the front exit. No one else showed up in the next hour as Mike pumped his shoulders up to humongous proportions. He also added an extra routine for his upper arms and abs. He did a bit of flexing for the mirrors, very satisfied with the day's progress. Ain't no way I'm gonna lose the Olympia contest this year! -- he thought, contemplating his dismal finish in the overall competition previously even though placing in the top of his weight class. With the deep cuts sharply defining his great unsurpassed mass, there was no way the other athletes could touch him this time: no way. With a grunt of satisfaction, he turned to grab his shirt to leave. And, forgotten until now, the inner doorway called to him from the corner of his eye, beckoning. The mysterious hole sat like a dark gash splitting the far wall. He paused for a minute, rubbing a hand over his dark closely-cropped sweat-laden scalp as he thought about exploring. "Aw, it don't hurt just t'look down it, I s'pose," he muttered to himself, tossing his tank-top against a spot on the wall beneath the nearest mirror. He walked over to the opening and peered around the immediate right turn of the crack. The corridor was wide enough for two men, or even a single big bodybuilder like himself. The light faded at the far end a dozen yards away. There it turned again to the left to plunge further into the mountain. Loaded with curiosity, Mike padded quietly down to this next turn. "Nuttin' ventured, nuttin' gained," he said. From the very dim light at this turn, the next stretch of passage was in blackness. He edged a bit down this hall a few yards. Remembering Vinnie's warning, he cautiously felt along the floor slowly with his feet and the walls with his big hands and thick forearms, upon which his unwashed sweat glimmering fitfully in the fading light from behind. The floor was surprisingly smooth and the walls, though crudely shaped, did not feel rough at all. The passage bent off to the left. The athlete turned around to see the dim light of the main room reflected off his previous location. Turning forward again and edging a bit further into the dark, Mike was surprised to see a faint glowing patch ahead. After a few more yards, it appeared to be another turn, with faint light reflected from a source from the right, further on. The bodybuilder looked back to darkness behind. The corridor had turned too far for him to see the previous turn. But the light from ahead, plus the absence of pitfalls or turnoffs in this section, encouraged him to explore onward. Making the right and then another left, he entered a small chamber with a single light panel in the wall. There were two openings in the wall ahead. He tried the right one first. Several yards later, however, he could feel the walls closing in against his wide shoulders. He turned sideways to explore a bit further, but the passage went back straight into darkness. It narrowed into a dead end. "Crap," he muttered under his breath. Coming back to the little room, Mike went down the lefthand way. The second hallway weaved slightly, becoming almost totally dark in just a few yards. As both height and width started to narrow, Mike figured it was another dead end. But then, in the dim light, he encountered a wooden barrier. He ran his fingers over it to examine it. Like the walls, it was crudely fashioned but smooth in texture. It was clearly a door and, with a bit of probing, he found its handle and tried it. "Yesss!" he exulted softly: it was unlocked. The door opened onto a tall and wide straight-away. The cooler air on the other side caused his bare muscles to give a brief though not unpleasant shiver. Light again glimmered far ahead from its end. Advancing down the hall, he made a left turn, and then another to the right a few feet further. The light brightened. The hallway entered another small chamber, dimly lit with a single panel of light. However, the brightness leaking from under another wooden door in the far wall was considerably more intense than the light here. The bodybuilder tried this door -- also unlocked -- and stepped through, blinking momentarily in the brightness. Inside, Mike found a chamber not unlike the weight room in its lighting and complement of wall mirrors. The cavern was somewhat larger, however. At its left end, it bent to the right forming an L-shaped extension. From that direction came the gentle trickling sound of running water. There was no weight equipment here, but something else entirely. Near the walls in front of the mirrors were several low six-inch platforms of what appeared to be smooth white rock, perhaps marble. Several of these six-foot-square slabs were empty. Nearest him, the other platforms he could see held tall blocks of the same white stone, standing nearly seven feet high. Further in the center of the room were a pair of wooden workbenches with a large variety of implements scattered on them: hammers, chisels, files, sanding pads. He wasn't an artist, but Mike figured they were sculptor's tools. He walked over to the nearest stone block and rubbed it with his hand. It was definitely marble, of a very fine quality. But as he came further into the room, he quietly whispered "whoa," surprised by the astounding sight upon two of the platforms previously hidden by the blocks. Upon each of these platforms stood a magnificent sculpture of a male nude, each posed in a fine bodybuilding stance. The nearer statue was posed with hands against its hips and flexing its upper torso. Mike walked over to examine it. Every feature of its magnificent body was cut from marble with uncanny lifelike detail. The massive arms were rendered as blocky muscles of well-carved stone joined to massive shoulders more than a meter wide. The chest featured a broad pair of smooth curving shields of polished rock. The pecs were separated by a pronounced crevasse and interrupted by small erect nipples surrounded by slightly raised aureoles. Below, interrupted only by the dimple of a well-detailed navel, the abdominals were a washboard of diamond-hard marble, chiseled in stunning angular ridges. These ran down the front of the torso, past a thirty-inch waist, to join a pair of monstrously large thighs at the handsome iliac crest. The tensed quadriceps were locked like muscular white pistons. Mike looked upon the cannonball calves settled atop thick ankles and attractively veined feet. Here he saw that the statue kept its balance by the fusion of the soles of its feet to the marble pediment. At the juncture of abs and thighs, Mike found a snowy tangle of what appeared to be finely carved pubic hair. Rising stiffly from this nest stood a hefty seven-inch rod. He was fascinated by the appearance of this erect and literally rock hard cock on the statue. Though he knew he was alone in the room, Mike bit his lower lip in trepidation as he glanced about. Then he turned back to the inanimate sculpture with a look of determination on his face. Fuck, he thought, wouldn't bother me if it was a real guy... and this's just a statue! With a smile and a bit of vicarious thrill, he first traced the sculpted head and shaft carefully with the fingertips of his right hand. Despite its veined and hard-edged muscular shape, the texture of the stone phallus felt silken smooth. Then he wrapped his large powerful fingers around the underside of the thick marble cock, laying his thumb along the top of the cylindrical organ. The severe whiteness of the cock shone in stark contrast to the rich ruddy color of his tanned hand. As Mike moved his thumb gently back and forth along the axis of the rod, he marveled at how the coolness of the rocky mass in his hand began to warm slightly under his caressing touch. After a minute or so, he let his hand run absentmindedly around the waist to the back of the statue. There he gripped the hard glutes of a well-muscled butt with his palm. From there his fingers explored downward, running slowly down the length of the muscular legs. Then Mike looked over at the other sculpture. It stood in an abdominal pose with its arms crossed behind its head and shoulders. This figure had large, well-defined sinewy hands grasping its gigantically thick upper arm muscles in an embrace above and behind its pillar-like neck. The pectoral and serratus muscles were bulging outward under the arms in a dramatic display of width, narrowing to a concave alabaster plate of abdominal muscles, crunched into high relief with its alternating ridges and creases. Here, too, a large thick erection was sculpted to jut outward from the pelvic region of the figure. The legs, just as muscular and well-defined on this statue as the first, appeared to be anchored to its platform in the same way. Mike turned back to look at the first statue. "Oh, man, this is fuckin' incredible work!" he murmured. He ran his own large sinewy hands over the alabaster body. Some years ago, he spent a summer working at his uncle's quarry back in Vermont, helping manhandle uncut blocks of raw marble out from the ground. Then, he found great fascination in the firm yet silky touch of the sedimentary rock. Now he found himself caught up in that same fascination -- and more. His hands drifted about the surface of the sculpture, where nets of thick twisted ridges densely decorated the arms and shoulders. By chance or design, the rocky texture mimicked the freaky vascularity a real bodybuilder in the same pose would have. Then Mike looked into the statue's face, fronting a head topped with a lawn of closely cropped white fibers carpeting its scalp. Its features were sharp and angular despite the smoothness of the marble. Its lips were parted in a grin of determination over its clenched teeth. And although the brow was furrowed in concentration, the sculptor had captured it undergoing a subtle change, as if its steadfast intensity was about to give way to surprise. Overall, Mike felt a vague sense of familiarity. But the featureless corneas, clouded and blank, gave an effect of lifeless detachment to its fixed expression. He gently rubbed the opaque eyeballs with his fingertips. It couldn't possibly resemble anyone alive, Mike thought. He went over to stand beside the second sculpture. The surface of this sculpture was also detailed with lifelike texture, capturing the sinewy nuance of every flexed muscle on its massive brawny physique. Thick venous ridges curled extensively along the abdominals, winding down towards the thighs and genitals. On its very masculine face, its features wore a very realistic expression of intense concentration. Its thick lips were pursed in mid-breath, its brows caught in a frown (yet here, too, with that vague touch of startlement). Again, Mike felt he knew this face. Yet again, like the first sculpture, the blank orbs of its eyes failed to convey any human feeling. Any sense of recognition danced just outside his grasp. Mike probed the rock hard craggy face of the statue with his warm caressing hand. He framed its frozen stony smile with his thick strong fingers, typical of a freaky muscle-pumping gym-dude such as himself. He brought his face close to the whitened jaw held in his big palm. With one bold motion, the bodybuilder closed his eyes and sealed his warm wet mouth awkwardly against the thick hard lips of the stone figure. His tongue flickered for a moment into the cold glazed cavity of solid marble. Mike pulled away from the statue, opening his eyes slowly, a thin tendril of saliva briefly connecting their mouths. He was fascinated by the strange exotic mineral taste of the kiss. For a moment, the sound of water running in the back of the cavern intruded upon Mike's thoughts. The athlete now listened carefully to the flow. It wasn't running regularly! He realized from the sound, in fact, that someone was back there washing something in and out of the stream. "Hello?" he called out cautiously. "Hey!" came a low resonant female voice, "Hello yourself! I didn't know I had a visitor." The voice beckoned, "whyn't you come on back here. I'm cleaning up." Mike rounded the corner of the L-shaped room. He saw additional workbenches and a near wall taken up by a cascading stream that ended in a natural waist-high sink. The far wall held a couple of exits to back rooms. But what caught Mike's attention was the woman standing at the basin. She looked up at him and gave a loud unabashed wolf-whistle. "Well, well, hel-LO handsome!" she said with authentic enthusiasm. Mike took in the sight of her very quickly. The tall thirty-something woman wore a toga-like artist's smock of indeterminate age beneath various mismatched articles of kitsch-y clothing, along with an ample ensemble of bangles, beads and junk jewelry. Yet for what it lacked in contemporary fashion, the attractiveness of her arty outfit was made up for in its colorful and bold patchwork nature. Underneath he could tell she had quite a nice figure -- nothing to get too horny about, though. She put down the handful of files and chisels she had been scrubbing in the water. Putting her wet hands on her hips, she reciprocated Mike's evaluation of her. "Gosh, durn'it!" she exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, "any MORE of you at home?" Her deep expressive voice vamped with sultry desire. Mike shifted his weight from foot to foot and clenched his fingers nervously at her forwardness. He blushed deeply: though he liked women sometimes, he didn't know how to deal with them too well. Maybe she wasn't particularly pretty, but her looks were very striking... and strangely familiar. She displayed very large pouty lips made up with thick red lipstick framing a wide mouth. Her heavily mascaraed eyes complemented her very prominent cheeks and strong yet not overbearing nose. And then there was that outrageously thick but wacky-wild hair. Suddenly he remembered where he'd seen her. Pointing a thick finger at her, he said, "hey, ain't you that babe on cable TV who does..." "... stand-up comedy?" she finished with an impatient sigh. Mike nodded. She explained, "Yes, yes, that's what everyone says first time they meet me. You've obviously got me confused with my twin sister, Sandra. I," she said, narrowing her eyes and spreading her hands against her breasts, "am Euryale." Then she added with her most alluring voice, "By the way, I'm the nice one, all sweetness and light." With a more nasty tone, she added, "my sister's the bitch." "Wow," said Mike, "th'resemblance's really amazin'!" The woman before him even spoke like the forceful nightclub comedienne. "You two sure're dead-ringers fer each other. But, like, her hair's usually dark red. Why's yer hair all... green?" "Oh, this?" she huffed, running a wet hand through her verdant locks, unkempt but not unlike her sister's trademark messy coiffures. "Silly boy. Who said twins have to look the same? One of us DYES it, of course," she said playfully. Mike nodded. Then, with some thought, he asked playfully, "So, umm, which one o'you dyes?" Euryale gave an earthy laugh and returned a cryptic smile. "Now, THAT would be telling! But for your... informazione..." she added, pronouncing the last word with an outrageous Italian accent and a flip of her hair, "my slutty sister even changed her name when she went 'Hollywood' on me. Thought her own name was too strong, too... ethnic for television. So you tell me: who's the faker?" Then she nodded her head at him, her lips stretching into a sexy appreciative smile. "And speaking of names, what do I call you, handsome?" "Well, ma'am, my name's Mike, but all the guys, they just call me Mikey." "Michael. Oooo," she exclaimed, her eyes briefly flashing with allure, "such a nice strong masculine name." "Well, sometimes I'm Big Mikey if there's annudder Mike around." Her eyes scrutinized him with obvious appreciation. As they meandered down to the base of his torso, her tongue flicked out to wet her wide ruby lips. "Hmm... BIG Mikey... I'm sure that distinction is quite... appropriate." Mike looked down himself and blushed again. Changing the subject, he gestured at the room around them. "S-so, umm, what're y'doin' down here all by yer lonesome, Miz Euryale?" "Please. Just 'Euryale', Michael. No need to be so formal," she told him pleasantly, and then continued. "To answer your question, big boy, I'm an artist!" She pronounced it ar-teest, her hand flourishing up into the air. "I'm a very famous sculptor. Or sculptress if we're going to be politically correct about it. Lemme show you my workshop," she said as she strode on past the bodybuilder towards the front of the room. But she stopped short suddenly, still within arm's reach of Mike. Reaching back with an agile hand, she squeezed his big right pec in her palm without looking back at him. "Grrrr," she growled with tigerish desire in her voice. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, "please tell me, Michael, just how big is that magnificent chest of yours?" "Hmm... I dunno f'sure... mebbe 55 or 60 inches?"