fissionmailed | BIG SWEATY GYM TIMES/TORTURE

[The Nexus gym is particularly loud and noisy today, as someone is in there barking orders like a standard drill sergeant, except the said orders are in Russian. The treadmill is rattling and rolling at a high speed, and there is the sound of feet clopping along on it in their frantic rhythm.

At the back corner upon entry, there is the large, imposing figure of Volgin, still quite large and still very imposing even in casual dress. He is currently overseeing the forced fitness regimen of one of the Raikovs he had come to grow some attachment to (as he is aware of clones in this place, but still grasping the concept). Fed up with this pattern of fattening Raikovs, the Soviet giant is determined to rectify the problem. Once a GRU colonel in charge of his own unit (in this Volgin's particular case), the proper care and maintenance of his men was a high priority and body shape was among those concerns.

No man looked like Volgin at his age without proper self-discipline! Like a good commanding officer, he feels it is his proper duty to keep his men in shape if they are so foolish as to let their discipline slip. There would be consequences.

Starting with this one.

Whenever Raikov's pace slackens, Volgin coolly holds a hand out, and a good electric probe to his asscheek helps him right back along. His face is locked for the time being into a stony indifference. No matter what sounds Raikov makes or how much he complains: There is a price to pay for letting such a beautiful body grow soft, and there will be correction.]

((OOC: Open post, anyone is free to walk in and interact in any way you see fit! Sometimes they're both there, sometimes Ivan is left there and Volgin is off doing something in another room. Pretty briefly, if he's out.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yevgenyyy...[He whined.]

Can't I lift weights or something? [Siiigh.]

[Hm, Ivan had a point.

But that had Ivan getting his stomach groped again, as Yevgeny thought. His grope was harsh, as Volgin-gropes usually went.]

You are needing work on your stomach... [His tone was considering.]

[The feeling this groping gave him contrasted sharply to how he usually felt about the older Soviet's touch.

Mostly shame and embarrassment, an unwillingness to let him touch him at all. He pushed Volgin's hands away after a few seconds.]

Yeah...

Then.

Mat. Floor.

[He gestured to the stacked pile. Raikov was going to burn calories in setup; Volgin was just a guide.

A forceful one.]

Get set up.

[Another sigh, irritated and exhausted. A quick glance around the room and Ivan located a mat to drag over.

He dropped it lifelessly in front of him, kicking open either end with his sore feet.

Weights would have been better, he thought, as his tired body laid down on the blue gym mat. Hands tucked and interlocked behind his head.]

...[A glance at Volgin.]

[But Volgin had that abdominal fat on his mind.

A foot on your feet, Raikov. Not enough to cause pain but there was pressure, and the younger man would not be going anywhere else.

Down, down Volgin was looking at him. A slight smirk touched his older face. It was the physical pleasure of a controlling high slipping through.]

Alright, Ivan:

One.

[Ivan glowered back at the larger Soviet, grunting and doing a single crunch.]

[Alright, then:]

Two.

...

[Ivan performed a second.

In fact, he could get all the way to 10 until earlier's fatigue started to truly kick in.]

Edited 2011-01-17 02:16 (UTC)

[And so, they made it to 10, until Raikov was noticeably having ... difficulties.

Volgin narrowed his eyes.]

Eleven.

[He struggled, but managed an 11. However, he was clearly worn out, cheeks red and sweat starting to collect along his brow.

Normally he had no problem with a few dozen crunches, but all that running earlier with no pacing and no breaks...]

[But that was your feet and legs, Ivan!]

Twelve.

[There was a creeping edge of annoyance at... this sight.]

[He was still exhausted!

Ivan managed a twelfth--he'd slowed down as it was obviously just tiring. There wasn't pain, just fatigue.]

...

[A snort.]

What kind of crunch was that? Thirteen!

...Nnh... [Thirteen.]

[Barely satisfactory.]

Fourteen.

[Huffs. Fourteen.]

[Volgin is going to keep going until fifty, Raikov. Then probably a few more by a factor of tens if he's feeling a bit determined.

His foot is still on your feet.

What is your course of action?

~~If you give him sexual favors, turn to page 34..~~]

[Ivan chooses to collapse after 34.]

I can't...!

Edited 2011-01-19 04:00 (UTC)

[That's not fifty. Volgin is very visibly displeased with this. Raikov might even be feeling pressure on his feet, bordering on pain. Pain, Volgin had found, was a good motivator. Not unlike spurring a horse.]

You can't what?

[He winced slightly, but made no clear effort to do another crunch.]

Anymore...Colonel...I'm still tired from the running machine...

[A harsh headjerk like a bull tossing its head. Visible, noisy frustration in the form of puffing his breath.]

That is your legs!

This is your stomach!

Your legs are not your stomach!

[Now he was annoyed, but too tired to actually push his point. His brows merely angled to match his frown.]

I'm tired. I haven't eaten in...forever, I'm famished.

[Surprisingly, Volgin releases Raikov's feet.

Unsurprisingly, there is a foot on his stomach. It is not enough to cause pain, but it's there, as a point.]

You whine like a woman.

[A smirk.]

Fine--!! Hey!! [Ivan moves now, grasping the foot with both hands and attempting to heave it and the massive man attached to it off.

He freezes at the comment.]

What did you say?

(no subject)

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