Boxing Day (Patreon)

"I like your new body. Looks like a boxer's body," he said complimenting the progress of my new workout regimen. That's the first time I can remember him ever referencing me and boxing together. At the time I was too elated over the compliment to think much about boxing. I guess my mind flashed tight strong bodies. Muhammed Ali, Mike Tyson, Jake Gyllenhaal in whatever that boxing movie was. All much more muscled than I, but perhaps there was a kernel of truth in what he said. It planted a seed of a goal at least. Something to work towards.

Over the next few months he mentioned boxers body a few times, and I think I said it too. "Going for that boxer's body," I'd told a few regulars at the gym when the question of goals came up. I even got a pair of those ribbons you wrap around your hands and practiced some punching at a sandbag at the gym. My technique was terrible, but I got sore in the right places, and sore means muscles. One of the guys took pity on me and showed me the basic hits, and how to punch the bag and get some muscles in return.

"Ready to dress the part?" he asked one evening. I had no idea what he was talking about. He went over to his wardrobe and pulled out a Dick's Sporting Goods bag and from it a pair of adidas boxing boots and shorts. I was already horny for the evening, but this made me perk up even more. It's a turn-on to not just merely play in someone's fantasy but to be someone's fantasy, and this had clearly been his for quite a while. I wholeheartedly agreed and stripped everything but my trunks and socks. "The socks too," he said and pulled out a weird pair of socks from a drawer.

They said WYOX SPORTS on them and were made from some sort of compression material. They were like regular socks, but lacked toes and heels. Somehow they felt sexy, and in a way dirtier than using no socks in the boots. I put on the socks, the shorts, and started to lace the boots. While I did that he left the room and came back with a pair of black Everlast boxing gloves with some white details. I hadn't realized before that moment how hot this was to me, but seeing those black leather gloves almost made me cream my new shorts. If not for my trunks there would be a massive tent.

"Here, let me help. I have a special surprise for you," he said, put the gloves next to me, and picked up a roll of gauze tape. There was a smell of paint in the room. He taped my four main fingers together on both hands. He then picked up the first boxing glove and helped me into it. It was wet inside, almost gooey. "It will make for a better fit," he told me. He helped me into the other glove, laced them both up tight, and tied them up for me. I took a look in the dressing mirror and I had to admit it looked hot.

He couldn't keep his hands off me any longer and threw me on the bed, kissing me violently. I reciprocated best I could, immediately discovered the limitations of wearing boxing gloves. I could still hug, but the rest I had to make up for with my lips, tongue, and grinding body. I wanted so badly to help him get out of his clothes, but this new arrangement firmly put him in the driver's seat. That made it even hotter. As my cock strained the fabric of my trunks I realized I was unable to do anything about it, besides maybe literally beat my meat.

He told me to get on all four and he pulled down my shorts and trunks. My dick flopped out and slapped against my flat stomach. It was that hard. He then proceeded to fuck my ass, like so many times before, perhaps better than any time before. He kept jacking me off in sync with his pounding. I really wanted to come at the same time as him, but this build-up had made me so horny I squired cum on my abs all the way up to my pecs long before he came in me.

He dried me off with a towel and pulled up my trunks and shorts for me. I went on my knees to give him a blow job, but was unable to pull his pants down. In the end he helped me, though I managed to pull down his brief with the help of my teeth. Giving a blow job without using your hands was a new experience as well, but an interesting one. Just like kissing you simply had to up your game with what you could do with your mouth. Even more challenging when you start out with a limp dick, having just come into my ass. It took some kissing and licking to make it firm, and quite some work to get him to come again.

He then almost tossed me in the bed, and undressed himself this time, and we started all over again.

The phone woke me up. He had already gone to work without waking me up, as so often on my days off. I was still wearing the gloves, shorts, and shoes, which probably explained why I was thirsty as hell. I glanced at the phone charging at the nightstand. "BOSS" the display read. Not even trying to fumble with the phone with gloves on I pressed my nose against the answer symbol and leaned against it with my ear. "We are getting short-staffed today. I really need another set of hands down here as soon as possible," the other end said. "Ok, I'll get there as soon as I can. I just need to sort a few things out," I told him.

Dammit. Why did he leave the gloves on? I looked at the knot on my left-hand glove. Lots of shoelace type of string, but it didn't look very complicated. I bit into one of the dangling ends and pulled. One of the loops shrunk and shrunk until that part of the knot came undone. I did the same with the other end, and was left with just a simple knot. I could tease that apart with my teeth pretty easily. The hand was as firmly stuck in the glove as before though.

I put the glove between my knees and pulled hard. Nothing. Not even a little shift. Fuck! He must have filled the gloves with glue or that kind of silicone that dries into rubber dildos. I have dildo hands?! "FUCK!" I shouted as I get up from the bed and punched the bedroom wall with a right jab. My padded fist landed with a thud. I made another jab, this time I put weight behind it actually trying to break the wall. It again landed with a thud. Perhaps that wall was reinforced, load-bearing. Perhaps I was too weak. Perhaps I was as impotent as I felt. He set up trap and I walked right into it. I was so upset I was panting.

I sat down on the bed again, thinking about what to do next. I needed to call work and tell them I couldn't show up. Given the past few months I wasn't sure I would have a job anymore if I did. Kind of the same outcome as if I didn't call him. The bathroom door from the bedroom was open, but the bedroom door leading out to the corridor was closed. I let myself fall back into the bed and spread out my arms. How the fuck would I twist a doorknob wearing boxing gloves? Did he set this up intentionally as well? Of course he did. He usually thought things through. That's why we complemented each other so well. He planned and executed, and I rushed into things and fucked them up.

How long had I had an erection? I was apparently still wearing the trunks, because I could feel it but didn't see a tent. Damn it! Even my own body was on board. Resigned I stood up again, heading for the bathroom. I was still thirsty, and at least I could do something about that. I could turn on and off the tap lever fine. Getting out of the shorts and trunks were trickier, but not impossible. I could grab hold of the hem of the shorts between the thumb and the glove head and pull them down. After many attempts I could pinch the cloth of the trunks in the crotch and pull down the trunks too, enough to free my dick at least. Still hard, I opted for pissing into the shower drain. I could get both the trunks and shorts up by hooking the thumbs in the waist and pull out as I pulled up.

Then fucking nothing. Absolutely nothing to do. I made a few failed attempts at turning the doorknob, but with such large gloves I could barely get close enough to touch it from the sides. I could punch through the windows, I was fairly certain of, but I wasn't going to resort to destruction unless it appeared I was left for good. I went back to bed, until tossing and turning there became too boring.

I could do my body weight exercises on the floor space, though barely. Then back to staring out the window, back to bed, or having a lunch of tap water in the bathroom.

It was probably later than normal, judging by the dusk, when I heard his car coming to a stop outside the house. I couldn't be bothered to fiddle with the phone to get it to show time. I would have to grab it and then poke the little button with my teeth. But he didn't open the front door as I had expected, but instead I could hear him opening the garage door. Then construction noises, like drilling or some other power tool being used. After something like half an hour of work in the garage I could hear the door closing again. Then he opened the front door.

"Honey, I'm home."

He started using that phrase long ago, and I thought it sounded silly and endearing. Now it felt insulting. "I'm fucking locked in, you fucking bastard," I shouted.

He opened the door to the bedroom.
"How was your day?" he asked, smilingly.
"Just as fucking boring as you planned. And I'm probably fired thanks to you." I said, sitting on the bed sulking.
"Oh, no. Not at all. I told Simon you quit."
"You did what?! Why the fuck would you do that?"
"Come, have a look," he said, completely ignoring my anger, and left the room.

I jumped up and followed him out of the room. He was several steps ahead of me through the house and opened the door from the kitchen to the garage. Even before I entered I saw what he had done making those noises. Hanging from the middle of the ceiling was a proper, heavy, black punching bag. Beneath it on the floor was some sort of rubber mat that took almost all the floor space. Both the mat and the bag looked well used, and there was a scent of leather hanging in the air of the garage, despite the bag only having been there for a few minutes.

"This looks legit. And expensive."
"Don't trouble yourself with that. You just focus on hitting the bag."
"What? Now? You locked me into the bedroom and quit my job. I haven't eaten since yesterday!"
"And you will not get anything until you've clocked an hour of bag drill. I want to see droplets of sweat."
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"It's the routine for the next month. Strict diet, daily workout plan, and nothing but ESPN on the TV."
"What if I refuse?"

He reached down and grabbed my erect dick through the fabric of the boxing shorts and trunks, and started to slowly jerk me off.

"You are already thinking of what you might look like a month from now. There's a set list on the wall. Once you're done I'll have a protein shake ready for you in the kitchen, and then perhaps we could make another one in the bedroom."

He let go of my groin and made a half step back towards the house door. "Besides," and he nodded towards my gloves, "you don't have much of a choice."

I jumped him without any warning and grabbed him like a backpack put on the wrong way. I crossed my legs behind his back like I was taught in the one MMA class I've ever gone to, and put my arms under his arms and up behind his neck. He fell backward completely uncontrolled and surprised, and the fall was only braced by my legs and the boxing gloves behind his head. It knocked the air out of him, and before he was even conscious of what had just happened I kissed him as passionately as ever. This might have begun as his sexual fantasy, but now it was ours.