John Krasinski's Workout

John Krasinki stood in the middle of a small private gym and whistled a cheery tune as he waited for his trainer Paul to join him.  John had played the role of an office worker on a comedy for several years, and though he kept himself in decent shape, he needed to get shredded quickly to play the role of globe-trotting, physically fit special agent Jack Ryan. The scripts called for John to perform most of his own physically grueling stunts with plenty of sequences tailor written to gratuitously show off the musculature of the hero as he casually walked away from danger with his shirt inexplicably torn open or clinging to his body from sweat.

Paul Taylor was something of a legend in the business for his ability to sculpt a man into an adonis in a remarkably short amount of time. John had been following Paul's strict, and slightly bizarre, customized diet for several weeks and to his amazement had shed quite a bit of fat. Now it was time for him to kick his workouts into overdrive and today was going to be John's first in-person training session. Paul warned him they were going to be grueling, intense encounters, and happen daily until the Jack Ryan show started production in several months.

"John!" Paul bellowed as he walked into the gym.

John turned and slightly blushed to see Paul was basically nude except for a bulging jockstrap, a smartwatch, sneakers, and - oddly enough - heavy plastic knee pads.  John had heard Paul was a bit excentric so dismissed the odd choice of outfit as a quirk. He seemed to match John's 6' 2" height and general build but was much denser as if someone had taken John's body and amped up the musculature to maximum.  It was obvious this trainer knew what he was doing and John was excited by the prospect to be working with him. As he approached with his outstretched hand, John could see that Paul was glistening with sweat and panting slightly, his golden skin flush as if he had just finished running a marathon.

"Sorry, mate. You're my third client today, no time to shower between I'm afraid,"

John was impressed. It was only six in the morning and Paul had already worked up a sweat over several intense sessions and probably had more to go. He wished he had Paul's stamina and tried to convey his commitment to what was bound to be months of exhausting work with a firm, thoughtful handshake. 

"Okay, the first order of business. I'm gonna' need you to take off your shirt,"

John, knowing Paul was meticulous to detail and well trained on the human body, thought nothing of the request and peeled out of his Dunder Mifflin logo t-shirt.  Without a word, Paul slowly circled the handsome actor and his eyes darted almost frantically as he made copious mental notes. When he was finished he stood just inches away from John's face and nodded.

"Not bad, we can definitely work with this. Now lose the shorts,"

John gave the trainer a quizzical look as he stepped out of his loose-fitting shorts and stood in front of him wearing only a pair of tight white briefs. John blushed as the trainer again circled him, eyeing every inch and curve of his body as if creating a high-resolution mental scan. When he was finished he again stood face to face with his student.

"Okay, get dressed and let's begin," he said.

For a brief moment, John thought he caught Paul's gaze laser-focused on his stuffed pouch but dismissed the notion. John would never have stood out on a porn set, but he had a pretty nice package, or so he thought, with a meaty 5" cock and two large, very oblong eggs.

"So I've read the stunt script and you're gonna' be doing a ton of upper body stuff. Hanging, climbing, carrying wounded characters across the set, and lots of shirtless scenes, so we are definitely going to be focusing on that hard."

John nodded and smiled, he was ready to get to work. Paul motioned John toward a preacher curl weight bench and John took a seat with his upper arm resting against the pad ready to do bicep curls.

Paul placed a small dumbbell in the actor's hand and his eyes widened at the surprisingly heavy weight. It felt an order of magnitude heavier than its small size suggested. 

"What's this thing made out of? Gold?" John joked and he used both hands to keep it steady.

"On the count of three, I want you to curl that with just your right arm as many times as you can until I say stop. One... two... three,"

John's face grimaced in the effort and he struggled to keep decent form as he curled the weight. Up and down, up and down. He could feel his bicep starting to burn but Paul just stood there carefully watching John and occasionally touching his watch.

"Okay, stop!" Paul barked after his watch gave a pleasant-sounding tone.

Paul dropped the weight and grasped his sore right bicep with his left hand.

"That's six," was all Paul said before picking up the weight and placing it into John's left hand.

"Okay, same thing with your left arm and... go!"

John pumped the weight over and over until his left bicep felt like it was on fire. He had to have done at least twenty reps but Paul only stood, carefully studying the movement of the actor's muscles and glancing at his watch.

"Okay, that's good. That's five."

"Five what?" John asked panting as he let the weight hit the ground. 

"Stand up," Paul ordered and John obediently complied.

Without a word, Paul stood face to face with John and placed his strong hands on his shoulders. Paul looked intensely into John's dark eyes and John assumed he was about to be given some inspirational speech. The whole thing almost seemed like a setup for an exercise montage from The Office.

"Oooomph!" 

John's eyes bulged and he screamed in surprise as Paul rammed his padded knee into his crotch six times rapidly. His leg moved with the speed and power of a mechanical piston and the stunned actor could barely believe he'd just been kneed six times so quickly.

"That was for the right bicep," Paul said cooly.

"What... the ... fuck man!"  

John's eyes crossed as he slowly slumped to his knees.

"Stand up!" Paul barked roughly.

John righted himself and had parted his lips to berate the eccentric, practically naked personal trainer when his eyes bugged out and his mouth formed a perfect 'O'.

WHAM! CRUNCH!

Five devastating, rapid knees compressed John's eggs into his pelvis and he moaned as he sunk to the floor.

"What the Hell, man!"

John coughed as he clutched his balls and rolled on the ground.

"That was for the left bicep,"

"The fuck?"

Paul's 'explanation' wasn't an explanation at all. 

After several minutes John was able to get to his knees, his face eye level with Paul's jock, and looked up at his trainer in confusion.

"What the Hell, dude!"

Paul smiled and offered his hand to help John back to his feet. John hesitantly accepted but kept a hand over his crotch as he stood just in case. His nuts were throbbing and he would have punched Paul in the face if it wasn't for Paul's stellar reputation - and obviously superior physical strength. Information about Paul's methods was an elusive mystery, even within the industry, and John was starting to figure out why.

"That was your motivation." Paul smiled patting John on the shoulder.

Paul reflexively flinched causing Paul's smile to broaden.

"Relax, Mr. Krasinski. I play by the rules,"

"Rules?" John was totally confused but did his best to block out his throbbing nuts as Paul started to explain.

"Remember the psychological evaluation you took when you first became my client?"

John nodded, "Yeah, how could I forget. Rapes are less intimate."

Paul smiled. He went on to elaborate that John fell into a very specific subset of men who respond well to the threat of emasculation, especially by another man. John let the trainer go on an extended diatribe using psychology words and concepts that, though they sounded legitimate, could have just been random gibberish to John's untrained ear. Finally, his nuts still throbbing and not particularly convinced, John snapped.

"That's enough Log Lady speak. When my agent hears about..."

John was instantly silenced as Paul rose his knee to his crotch, stopping just short as the heavy pad rested against the thespian's juicy berries. The two stood in the precarious pose, their eyes locked on each other, as Paul slowly took John's hand and placed it on the pouch of his jock. John could feel the heat radiating from Paul's large, heavy balls, and the straight actor was both disgusted yet fascinated by their sheer size.

Without moving his knee from John's crotch, Paul looked deep into Krasinski's eyes and whispered.

"I bet you're feeling disgusted, fascinated, maybe a bit of jealously right now. I also bet you're scared as shit that I'm gonna' crack your nuts wide open..."

Paul pressed his knee into John's crotch slowly increasing the pressure as he spoke.

"You're thinking about what you can do to stop me from just crushing 'em right now,"

"Oooh,"

John moaned as Paul pressed his knee further into his balls.  John could feel his nuts being flattened and deformed and started to panic...

"But you won't fight back. You, Mr. Krasinski, work on a perverted reward system. You want to impress me and do well in my class, with the 'reward' being I don't pop these..."

John's eyes crossed as Paul started bouncing his knee into his crotch.

"The threat of me bursting your scrotum open for failing is what's going to motivate you to succeed. Isn't it?"

John slowly shook his head 'yes'.

"Please don't...Oh shit!"

Paul slammed his knee over and over into John's crotch, feeling them warp and flatten under his knee. John cried out but, not to Paul's surprise, placed his hands behind his back and spread his legs.

"Stop! I'll do better!" John screamed and motioned for Paul to stop.

The adorable actor sank to the ground, landing on his knees clutching his balls and looking up at Paul whose babymakers were just inches away from John's face.  John moaned and rocked for nearly ten minutes before standing to his feet.

"So, um, how does this work?" he asked sheepishly.

Paul tapped the face of his watch and showed it to John. It was flashing large black random numbers against a green background 6, 0, 1, 0, 5... 

John watched in confusion. Paul tapped the screen and the background turned yellow. The numbers were still random but seemed higher: 10, 7, 9, 12...

He tapped the screen again. The screen turned red and instead of random numbers, seemingly random phrases appeared: Ruin him! Make him cry! Stomp him!...

With another tap, the screen went back to green.

"So I'm going to instruct you on workouts, watch your technique, monitor your progress. At the end of the set, your punishment is on the watch. If its a number, that's the number of kicks."

John nodded.

"So if I really don't like what I'm seeing, this happens,"

Paul tapped the screen twice, waited a moment then gave the screen a quick double-tap to stop the cycle. He chuckled as he showed John the screen.

John gulped and his hand subconsciously rested on his aching nuts.

The phrase "RUIN HIM!" was plastered across the screen.

"So you agree to work hard, to keep your motivation in the green zone?"

John nodded.

"Excellent, let's work your chest,"

Paul directed John to a bench press and placed several weight plates on the bar. John looked hesitant and Paul stood over him to be his spotter, his own heavy package hovering over the nervous action hero in training. 

"Don't worry, you can lift it,"  Paul said in a motivational tone that was quite bizarre considering the strange arrangement.

John took the bar in his hands and struggled to lift it, and his form was terrible on the way down.

Paul barked instruction "Don't arch your back! Straighten your arms!  Keep it level!"

"Get up!" Paul ordered. 

The watch read ten.

"Krasinski! It's like you're not listening to me at all,"

John looked at Paul pleadingly, knowing what was about to happen...

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! WHAAAAM!

John thought he was going to throw up as Paul landed ten no-holds, full power knees to his swelling nuts.  It was obvious Paul didn't care if he ruined John for his poor performance, and the thought terrifying and motivating. The sensation was odd, interesting but utterly horrible. John was going to do whatever it took not to piss off Paul.

Paul took the bench and demonstrated the move slowly and implored the actor to place his hands on his pecs and arms to really feel the movement. It wasn't sexual at all, John really could synthesize the movements by both seeing and feeling them and his brain took careful notes so that he might reverse-engineer them.

It was John's turn again and the set went much better. Though he struggled with the weight, his form was superior from his first attempt and he was well on his way to developing the foundational muscle memory on which he could start to build bulk and stamina.  He literally sighed in relief to see the watch read 'zero'.

They continued around the gym.  Sometimes Paul would get flustered as John flailed ridiculously at something, sending the watch into the yellow zone.  For the most part, John's motivational kicks were either zero or low numbers, but they were cumulatively adding up. John's nuggets had easily taken dozens of blows and were now quite swollen in red and the constant throb was becoming so distracting his brain was having trouble coordinating his sore muscles. Every muscle in John's sweaty upper body was awash in burning lactic acid as his instructor refused to give breaks between exercises. 

"I know it burns, but you gotta' push through. Filming starts soon. If I wanted to train a bitch I would've bought my wife," 

The emasculating insults flowed like water making John feel deflated yet motivated to prove them wrong. After nearly an hour John peeled out of his shirt to cool down his glistening, sore torso. It hurt like Hell but felt like Heaven and John literally growled at Paul, egging him to do his worst.

After a particularly sloppy set of lateral pull-downs during which John couldn't keep his back properly aligned - even on low weight - Paul stopped the watch on 20.

"No! Please, I'll do better..." John started to plead.

He pleaded with - but didn't attempt to physically stop - Paul as he gently pushed him backward until his back was against the wall with his hands behind his back.  Paul couldn't help but admire John's upper body. It lacked any real definition but was dripping sweat; The boyishly attractive and clearly committed actor was well on his way to being a smoldering, ripped action movie star.

"Paul, Paul, I'll do better... Ooooh! Oowwww! Plea--Oooh!"

Paul ignored John's pleas as he rammed his knee into the actor's defenseless crotch.  Paul could feel that John's balls were hideously swollen and felt much squishier than when they started, and much more pliable under his knee pad. Paul's leg was moving like a piston and by the tenth knee, he was grabbing Krasinki by the shoulders pulling him forward as he kicked to apply even more devastating force. John panicked for his manhood but gritted his teeth defiantly, occasionally letting out a defiant scream.

"If you keep fucking up, it's curtains for any more John Juniors," 

WHAM! CRUNCH!

"I'll do better!"

"You'd better!"

CRUUUNCH!

Paul delivered the final blow with vicious indifference. His knee collided with a truly sickening audible crunching. John's swollen right nut took the brunt and Paul chortled as he felt half of the wannabe action hero's manhood deform dangerously under his heavy knee pad. It was obvious he was doing real damage to the Krasinski family tree and the deep ache in the actor's stomach was coupled with a primal terror of losing his manhood, literally, to this alpha male. The only way to avoid getting neutered was to perform, John thought, and his motivation increased proportionately with the indescribable fear of being emasculated right there in the gym.

Paul let John slump to the ground where he nursed his swollen nuts through his shorts, alarmed at their size and sensitivity. He wanted to strip naked and make sure he was still a man but remembered he was still in the presence of the man who would have no problem stomping him out of the gene pool at the first opportunity so he decided to keep his balls hidden away.

"Come on, John. We're just getting started. Geesh, I should just neuter you know, you worthless quote-unquote male." Paul sneered as he however his shoe over John's crotch.

John growled and sprang to his feet.

"Piss off,"

"Oh really?" 

Paul grabbed for John's crotch and squeezed. Hard. John gasped and his eyes crossed as Paul's arms rippled and flexed from the strain. At this point, the unnaturally malleable bulge in his hand made it evident he was doing obvious damage but he could see from John's refocused eyes it was just the motivation he needed.

"Please, I'll do better! Please!" John pleaded hoarsely causing Paul to release his grip.

Paul grabbed John by his shaggy, sweat-matted hair and lead the actor back to the bench press like a man leading a dog. John obediently took his position but this time Paul wasn't spotting for him and there was even more weight added to the bar. John felt his heart flutter in fear as he grasped the bar, determined to impress his coach and power through the burning that had engulfed every muscle in his torso and arms.

"Come on, power through man," Paul snarled in a half-encouraging, half-taunting tone.

John tried desperately to power through, lifting the bar over and over, and although he was able to go through the motions, his form was sloppy and Paul's uncanny ability to scan a man's muscle movements made it obvious John wasn't performing the task up to bar. Paul barked and prodded Krasinksi to straighten up, but it was no use. John's muscles were burning, the pain from his crotch was clouding his head and he wasn't able to execute as cleanly as his coach demanded...

"Stop! Just fucking stop!" 

Paul tapped the watch and showed it to John.  His blood ran cold as he read the small circular screen.

"RUPTURE HIM!"

"No! Please I can do it again! Give me another chance..."

Paul grabbed John's matted hair, lifted him from the bench, and threw him to the floor. John landed with a thud in a spread eagle position and Paul lifted his foot over John's crotch. 

"Shorts off, now! I want you to fucking see this!"

John pulled off his shorts, begging Paul to give him another chance which Paul answered by kicking John in the ribs.  John gasped for breath and attempted to stand by Paul kept his foot firmly on John's chest.

"Lose the underwear! Do it!"

John obediently pulled his underwear to his knees allowing his blackish-red, swollen eggs to fall out onto the cold gym floor.  

"Please! Please! I'm sorry, I'll do better..."

"You should've thought about that before you signed up, bitch!" Paul roared.

John Krasinski let out a high pitched scream and blacked out as Paul's shoe stomped down onto his scrotum. Both testicles were compressed against the unyielding floor, flatter and flatter and flatter.

Paul looked down at the passed out actor and for a moment thought to give him mercy. After all, it was obvious John wasn't kidding around. He was in this to win. But Paul thought reinforcing John's ultimate fear would be the motivation needed to get him to camera-ready shape in the short time they had.  

The muscular trainer rose his foot over John's entirely defenseless nutsack and hovered for over a minute. He wished John was conscious for what was about to happen but was confident that he'd get the message either way. 

Without further ado, Paul stomped down as hard as he could, lifted his foot, took a hop, and landed full-force...

SQUIIISH

Paul landed on John's bloated scrotum. It was a lot of weight. Too much weight for John's practically cracked right egg. He felt half of John's entire world compress, warp, flatten... and then catastrophically implode.  John's head rolled though he was still blacked out and Paul thought hard.

"I hope he can keep being motivated with only half a sack."

After all, they still had several months before the Jack Ryan show started filming...

----

Note: This story introduces a new post tag 'Real People' for stories that feature the images and/or stats of real people (celebrities, readers, etc) appearing as themselves. I have to point out that these are works of fiction and do not reflect the actual people's sexual preferences or behaviors.  If you happen to be one of these people and somehow stumble upon this work and want your name/likeness taken down. Just shoot me a note! In other words: This is still fantasy fiction even if actual people, locations, brands, etc. are referenced :) 

I've gone back and retroactively tagged previous posts.