I met him at the gym. One of those loud, cocky guys who clearly spends more time staring at himself in mirrors than actually thinking. Thick arms, decent chest, always walking around like he owned the place.

And of course, the second he realized I was interested in him, he started talking tough.

“I can handle anything.”

Boys, let me give you a little advice. Never say that to me.

So I invited him back to my hotel room after my workout. He thought he was getting lucky. Technically, he was. Just not in the way he imagined.

The first thing I did was make him strip down to his compression shorts and stand against the wall. Wall sit position. He laughed at first. Thought it was cute.

Five minutes later, he stopped laughing.

I kept him there while I showered, slowly getting ready, taking my sweet time while his legs started shaking. Every time he tried to stand up higher, I smacked his thigh and told him lower.

Then came planks. Pushups. Holding positions while I sat on the bed drinking water and insulting him. This “alpha gym bro” turned into a sweaty, trembling mess in under an hour.

The best part? He kept trying to impress me.

“I’m good.”
“I can keep going.”
“No, don’t stop.”

Meanwhile his muscles were twitching so hard he looked like a baby deer trying to stand for the first time.

At one point I made him hold a plank while I rested my feet on his back. Then I casually started scrolling my phone while he suffered underneath me. Every collapse earned him another round.

Eventually he admitted he couldn’t feel his legs properly anymore. That’s when I knew I had him.

By the end of the night, this man who strutted around the gym like some untouchable beast was kneeling naked on the hotel floor, rubbing lotion into my feet while I watched trash TV. Quiet. Obedient. Completely broken down.

And honestly?

He looked way hotter like that.