Damn--hot as fuck my man...thanksThanks again, Michael! Feedback like this is what keeps me motivated to continue writing and sharing.
I've posted my second story to the forum now. Slightly different flavour. Hope everyone will enjoy that one too!
In the meantime, a little teaser imagery for you to enjoy.
View attachment 178816931
Bending Eli
- Thread starter BrokenBoundariesGayErotica
- Start date
- Joined
- Dec 19, 2011
- Posts
- 414
- Media
- 15
- Likes
- 1,327
- Points
- 423
- Location
- Hoddesdon, England, United Kingdom
- Verification
- View
- Sexuality
- 100% Gay, 0% Straight
- Gender
- Male
love it. Looking forward to the rest
Fuck! What an awesome story. I have been hard and stroking all these chapters. This last chapter very hot and I had to let it go! Eli is so nieave but it makes very adorable. You have great writing skills. Thank you for sharing the story with us.
Chapter 8: Training Balls
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The text came in at 11:46 p.m.
Casper: meet at the small gym by the science building at 5:30am before it normally opens. i wanna do some extra training with you.
No capitalization, no emoji, no explanation.
I stared at it for a full thirty seconds, thumb hovering. My heart was already pounding, even though I was lying in bed, lights off, screen low. Mason had been snoring softly for hours across the room. I didn’t even want to breathe too loud.
5:30 a.m.
Before it opens.
Extra training.
I had no idea what that meant. I wasn’t even sure if I was being singled out for something good or bad. But I didn’t care.
My stomach flipped, sharp and nervous and hot. I reread the message three more times. Then typed out a response:
Me: Ok. I’ll be there.
I didn’t sleep much after that.
The air outside was still dark and wet when I stepped out. My breath fogged faintly, the sky just beginning to hint at a faint light above the trees. The sidewalks were empty. The science building looked dead, like everything else.
But the side door to the small gym was propped open with a dumbbell.
Inside, it was quiet. Smaller than the main gym, no windows, just rows of mats, low lighting, and equipment lined up with military neatness. I stepped in slowly, letting the door shut behind me.
Casper was already there.
He was at the far end of the mat, stretching. Black tank top, low on the sides, sweatpants clinging loose to his hips. His hair was still a bit damp, probably from a quick rinse, and a faint sheen of sweat already coated his chest and shoulders. I watched the curve of his spine as he reached overhead, muscles rolling smooth under skin. It was silent except for the squeak of his bare feet against the mat and the soft pull of fabric as he shifted.
He didn’t look at me right away.
I swallowed, heart pounding as I set my bag down near the door.
Casper finally spoke without turning. “You’re on time.”
I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see that. “Yeah.”
“Good. Start warming up.”
That was it. No explanation. No nod. Just: start.
I rolled my shoulders out, still watching him for a second before moving to the edge of the mat. The floor felt cool under my palms as I dropped into a stretch. My limbs were stiff, but not from sleep. I hadn’t really slept at all.
Casper circled slowly as I stretched, eyes scanning, arms crossed. Every so often he’d stop and correct something. A hand to my shoulder. A press to the top of my thigh. One palm at the small of my back. Always firm, always calm. He was close, but not as close as he’d been before.
Then he had me transition into hip stretches. On my knees, back arched, chest lowered, thighs open. It wasn’t a position I’d ever done much in track.
Casper knelt beside me, adjusting my hips with both hands. His fingers pressed against the top of my glutes, guiding the angle. The sweat on his forearms caught the light, and the scent of it reached me—sharp, clean, masculine. Not cologne. Just him.
I inhaled too fast.
“Relax,” he said, adjusting my hips again. “You’re locking.”
“I’m trying,” I muttered, but my voice caught. My forehead was damp. My core was tight in a way that had nothing to do with the stretch.
Casper stood and walked around to the front.
“Switch,” he said, voice even. “Other side.”
I did, settling in, breath uneven. He crouched again, adjusting. This time, when he bent, I caught a clear view of the shape of his ass in his sweats: full, tight, outlined by sweat-soaked fabric.
My cock twitched in my shorts.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was no use. Every time he moved, every time he bent over, the pressure got worse. His voice, his scent, his body, my body just responded. My dick pressed uncomfortably against the front of my waistband.
Casper didn’t say a word.
The silence only made it worse. My whole body was warm now, soaked. His sweat had landed on my shoulder at least twice, and I didn’t wipe it off.
I thought he might say something. Joke. Scold. Anything.
But he just told me to move into the next drill.
Again. And again.
He ran me through an hour of conditioning. Planks, leg lifts, core holds, inverted positions that brought my face far too close to his ass. Sweat dripped off him steadily, spattering onto the mat. Onto me.
And I couldn’t hide it. The hard-on was constant. I stopped even trying to adjust. My shirt stuck to my chest, my hair damp against my forehead, my jaw clenched.
Casper never said a word.
When we finished, he checked his watch, nodded once, and said, “Same time tomorrow.”
I nodded, breath still catching. “Okay.”
He was already walking away.
The next morning, he was already stretching when I arrived. Same gym, same silence. But this time, he was wearing a singlet.
Not just any singlet. A dark, skin-tight one that clung to his body like it was trying to mold itself to him.
It took everything in me not to freeze in the doorway.
The straps framed his shoulders cleanly, leaving the muscles of his upper back completely bare. His ass looked obscene—round and flexed through the thin, taut fabric, the curve exaggerated every time he bent over to adjust a weight or roll his spine.
When he turned, I nearly swallowed my tongue.
The front of the singlet wasn’t padded. At all. It hugged him tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. His package was full, prominent, outlined clearly enough that my brain short-circuited trying to avoid staring while still taking it in.
He caught me looking once—maybe. His eyes flicked up from his wristwatch and landed on my face, unreadable.
“Warm up.”
His voice was as flat as ever, but it hit differently now. I peeled my hoodie off in a daze and stepped onto the mat, already hard.
The drills were tougher that day. Longer holds, deeper stretches, more bodyweight resistance. Casper kept me low to the ground for most of it, hips open, thighs shaking, shoulders down. Half the time, he stood or bent right in front of me. His ass filled my field of vision. Sweat glistened along the crease where his thigh met his glutes, soaking darker into the fabric.
At one point, during a set of slow body saws, he crouched down to correct my shoulders. His body lowered right in front of me, the stretch of the singlet taut between his legs.
I was panting, straining, but it wasn’t from the workout.
By the third session, I’d stopped pretending I wasn’t hard.
Every morning, the same thing happened: Casper in that goddamn singlet, moving with total calm while I sweated, shook, and tried not to lose it.
He never commented.
Not once.
Not when sweat poured down my back. Not when his own sweat dripped onto my arms and neck. Not when I started leaking into my shorts like a desperate idiot, cock aching from the friction, from the heat, from the way he looked when he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck mid-stretch.
He just kept adjusting my form.
“Lower. No, lower than that.”
“Hold it.”
“Don’t lock your knees.”
“Open your hips.”
Always the same calm tone. Always the same impossible control.
And I kept obeying.
I showed up every morning, on time, eager, hoping to please.
But all he ever said at the end was: “Same time tomorrow.”
I’d walk out dizzy. Throbbing. Ruined.
I didn’t know how much longer I could take it.
It was the sixth session.
The gym felt even smaller that morning. Maybe it was the heat, or the way the lights flickered faintly in the corners, or just how soaked I already was thirty minutes in. My shirt stuck to me like a towel that had already been used. My legs ached, my core burned. And still, as always, I was hard.
Casper had me holding a deep squat against the wall, arms forward, back flat. My thighs trembled. My breath came in short bursts. He circled in front of me, barefoot on the mat, arms crossed.
He’d worn a singlet again.
This time it was grey. Lighter. The sweat had already begun soaking through, tracing darker lines down his chest, lower down his abs. His package was outlined so clearly now it didn’t feel like clothing. It felt like an invitation to stare. Like torment.
He stopped in front of me, tilted his head slightly.
“You’re still not improving.”
I blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”
“Your form,” he said. “It’s inconsistent. Your hips aren’t staying level. Your knees collapse inward when you’re tired. Your shoulders lock up.”
He stepped closer.
“I’ve pushed you. Spotted you. Adjusted you. Still not seeing what I want.”
I stared at the mat, trying to slow my breathing.
His voice lowered. “You know what I think’s getting in your way?”
I swallowed. “No.”
Casper stepped in until I could smell him. The sharpness of salt and skin and fabric soaked through. His crotch was almost eye-level.
“I think it’s this,” he said quietly.
I followed his gaze.
He was staring directly at my bulge.
My breath caught. I didn’t move.
“You’ve been hard every morning,” he said. Still calm. Still unreadable. “Pretty much from the second I say warm up.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
Casper knelt in front of me. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world. The singlet stretched along his thighs, the material at his crotch pulling tight. He reached out, gripped the bottom of my shirt, and peeled it up and off without asking.
“You’re distracted,” he said simply.
I nodded. Or maybe I just didn’t stop him.
His hand settled briefly on my chest, palm flat, warm and slick. “I want you to take care of it.”
I looked at him, eyes wide.
“Now?” I breathed.
Casper raised a brow like it was a dumb question. “Unless you’d rather keep failing.”
I froze. My cock throbbed in my shorts.
“OK,” I said.
His voice shifted, just slightly.
“Good.”
Then casually, almost like he was bored: “You can lick my balls while you’re doing it. If you want to.”
My entire body went hot.
My brain screamed at me to hesitate. To question. To ask what this meant. But my mouth stayed shut.
Casper stood, slow and deliberate, and slipped the straps of his singlet down off his shoulders. The fabric peeled away, rolling to his waist.
Then he stepped out of it completely.
Naked from the waist down. Skin flushed. Balls slick with sweat. His huge cock swung with the swagger of a prize fighter above them, not hard, not focused on me.
He didn’t have to be.
“Your choice,” he said, voice flat.
I knelt forward before I even knew I was moving.
I lay back without thinking, shoulders flat to the mat, shorts pushed down just enough to free myself. My hand wrapped around my cock automatically. I was already leaking, so hard it almost hurt.
Casper stepped over me, one foot on either side of my chest, then slowly crouched. His thighs brushed against my arms as he lowered himself, his balls settling just above my face. Heavy. Damp. The scent hit immediately: sweat and skin and something raw underneath. My throat tightened.
I stared up at him, still stroking, heart pounding.
I didn’t want it to happen like this.
I wanted—God, I wanted something real. A kiss. His cock in my mouth. Maybe even… sex. I’d thought about it. Him pushing into me. Fucking me. That kind of thing.
This wasn’t that.
This was just his balls in my face. Just sweat and heat and maybe a little lust.
But it was still him.
And it was more than I’d ever had.
You can still say no.
You don’t have to—
Another drop of sweat landed just above my lip.
That was it.
I groaned and jerked harder, dizzy from the smell. My face felt flushed, skin prickling like I was too close to something I couldn’t touch. I could see the hair at the base of his cock, dark and damp. His balls hung so close now I could feel the heat off them.
I shouldn’t want this. Not like this. But I did.
I tilted my head. My lips parted. My tongue met skin—slick, warm, a little bitter—and I started to lick.
Above me, Casper didn’t move.
“Thought so,” he said. Just that. No tone. No praise.
And I kept going.
His balls were hot against my tongue. The skin was loose and slick, the taste sharp with sweat. I dragged the tip of my tongue along the underside, slow at first, just to feel it. Just to prove to myself it was real.
My cock jumped in my hand.
I stroked harder, groaning low in my throat, barely holding back. Every time I licked, my hand jerked up in response. Like one sensation fed the other.
I opened my mouth wider, taking more of him in. The weight of his sac pressed against my lips now. I could smell him with every breath—thick and male and perfect. Sweat rolled off him and hit my face in little drops. I didn’t care.
My hand was wet with pre-cum. Every stroke dragged along the shaft like I’d been edging for hours. Maybe I had, in a way. Days of buildup. Mornings of training. Of staring at him. Of doing nothing.
Now I was under him, and my cock felt like it was going to explode.
I licked again, rougher this time, flicking the tip of my tongue right between his balls, just to see how it felt. The texture. The give. The heat.
I moaned.
My fingers sped up. I could feel how close I was, already pulsing. My thighs tensed, heels digging into the mat. I was soaked in sweat, his and mine both, my body sliding a little every time I shifted.
Above me, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t moan. Didn’t even grunt. He just stayed there, letting me do it.
And somehow that made it worse. Better? Definitely more intense.
I pressed my mouth higher, lapping slowly, breath on skin. I loved the taste. I hadn’t expected to. I thought I’d be grossed out. But I wasn’t. Not even close.
I was obsessed.
My cock throbbed like it knew exactly what I was doing. Like it was grateful.
I stroked faster, rougher, hips twitching off the mat.
My mouth was full of the scent of him. The taste of sweat. My face was flushed, lips swollen, body burning. I moaned again, louder this time, right into his skin. I didn’t care how I sounded.
I was too far gone.
Too close.
Too desperate.
He adjusted his stance slightly. I felt it in the shift of his thighs. Then, without warning, he lifted his balls with one hand—just enough to pull them away from my mouth—and let them drop gently across my face.
The weight of them landed right over my nose and lips, damp and heavy and deliberate.
My cock jerked.
“Mmm,” Casper muttered, low. Almost a hum. “That’s it.”
Just that. No other praise. No instructions. Like he knew exactly what that would do to me.
It was over.
I groaned loud, body seizing, hand locked tight around my shaft as I came hard across my stomach. The first spurt hit high on my chest. The next coated my fingers. It kept coming, longer than I expected, messy and hot, and I didn’t stop licking even as my body bucked underneath him.
My head swam.
All I could feel were his balls on my face, his sweat in my mouth, and the ache in my cock finally breaking.
I let out a shaky breath, hand loosening as I finished, legs going limp on the mat.
And above me, Casper still hadn’t moved.
His weight lifted from my face. A breath of cooler air washed over me, shocking after the heat.
Casper stepped back, rolling his shoulders as if nothing unusual had happened. He picked up a towel, tossed it so it landed beside my hip.
“Wipe off,” he said. “Then let’s see if we can fix that form.”
My pulse hadn’t even slowed. Cum was still cooling on my skin. I dragged the towel over my stomach, chest, fingers shaking. The room felt tilted. Unreal. My mouth tasted of salt and cotton. I could still smell him.
He didn’t give me time to settle. “Up,” he repeated, like an ordinary drill command.
I pushed to my feet, legs weak, shorts hanging halfway down my thighs. He didn’t look at my mess, didn’t smirk. He just motioned to the wall bars.
“Wall sits. Deeper this time. Hold until I tell you to shift.”
I swallowed, tugged my shorts back in place, and moved. My thighs burned the second I sank into position. Sweat streaked down my temples. My cock was soft now, but every nerve felt blown open, skin buzzing.
Casper walked a slow circle, calm, eyes on my knees. No mention of what had happened thirty seconds earlier. No lingering stare at the towel on the floor.
Just training.
I tried to breathe evenly. My mind spun anyway.
I had just licked his balls. I had just come harder than I ever had, with him watching. Now I was back against a wall like nothing happened, thighs shaking, trying not to collapse.
Is this what coaching is for him? Is this the reward? The punishment?
I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I’d be here again tomorrow at 5:30, hoping—maybe a little scared even—he’d ask for more.
“Hold it,” he said, voice steady.
I locked my knees wide, chest up, sweat dripping from my chin. My muscles screamed, but a deeper ache settled low in my stomach, warm and restless.
I wasn’t sure which hurt worse: the burn in my legs or the need already coiling back into life.
Either way, I held the position and stared straight ahead, waiting for his next word.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thank you so much for reading my story; I hope you've enjoyed! If you'd like to read ahead in this story, access extra content like images and bonus chapters or read my other stories you can do so here
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The text came in at 11:46 p.m.
Casper: meet at the small gym by the science building at 5:30am before it normally opens. i wanna do some extra training with you.
No capitalization, no emoji, no explanation.
I stared at it for a full thirty seconds, thumb hovering. My heart was already pounding, even though I was lying in bed, lights off, screen low. Mason had been snoring softly for hours across the room. I didn’t even want to breathe too loud.
5:30 a.m.
Before it opens.
Extra training.
I had no idea what that meant. I wasn’t even sure if I was being singled out for something good or bad. But I didn’t care.
My stomach flipped, sharp and nervous and hot. I reread the message three more times. Then typed out a response:
Me: Ok. I’ll be there.
I didn’t sleep much after that.
The air outside was still dark and wet when I stepped out. My breath fogged faintly, the sky just beginning to hint at a faint light above the trees. The sidewalks were empty. The science building looked dead, like everything else.
But the side door to the small gym was propped open with a dumbbell.
Inside, it was quiet. Smaller than the main gym, no windows, just rows of mats, low lighting, and equipment lined up with military neatness. I stepped in slowly, letting the door shut behind me.
Casper was already there.
He was at the far end of the mat, stretching. Black tank top, low on the sides, sweatpants clinging loose to his hips. His hair was still a bit damp, probably from a quick rinse, and a faint sheen of sweat already coated his chest and shoulders. I watched the curve of his spine as he reached overhead, muscles rolling smooth under skin. It was silent except for the squeak of his bare feet against the mat and the soft pull of fabric as he shifted.
He didn’t look at me right away.
I swallowed, heart pounding as I set my bag down near the door.
Casper finally spoke without turning. “You’re on time.”
I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see that. “Yeah.”
“Good. Start warming up.”
That was it. No explanation. No nod. Just: start.
I rolled my shoulders out, still watching him for a second before moving to the edge of the mat. The floor felt cool under my palms as I dropped into a stretch. My limbs were stiff, but not from sleep. I hadn’t really slept at all.
Casper circled slowly as I stretched, eyes scanning, arms crossed. Every so often he’d stop and correct something. A hand to my shoulder. A press to the top of my thigh. One palm at the small of my back. Always firm, always calm. He was close, but not as close as he’d been before.
Then he had me transition into hip stretches. On my knees, back arched, chest lowered, thighs open. It wasn’t a position I’d ever done much in track.
Casper knelt beside me, adjusting my hips with both hands. His fingers pressed against the top of my glutes, guiding the angle. The sweat on his forearms caught the light, and the scent of it reached me—sharp, clean, masculine. Not cologne. Just him.
I inhaled too fast.
“Relax,” he said, adjusting my hips again. “You’re locking.”
“I’m trying,” I muttered, but my voice caught. My forehead was damp. My core was tight in a way that had nothing to do with the stretch.
Casper stood and walked around to the front.
“Switch,” he said, voice even. “Other side.”
I did, settling in, breath uneven. He crouched again, adjusting. This time, when he bent, I caught a clear view of the shape of his ass in his sweats: full, tight, outlined by sweat-soaked fabric.
My cock twitched in my shorts.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was no use. Every time he moved, every time he bent over, the pressure got worse. His voice, his scent, his body, my body just responded. My dick pressed uncomfortably against the front of my waistband.
Casper didn’t say a word.
The silence only made it worse. My whole body was warm now, soaked. His sweat had landed on my shoulder at least twice, and I didn’t wipe it off.
I thought he might say something. Joke. Scold. Anything.
But he just told me to move into the next drill.
Again. And again.
He ran me through an hour of conditioning. Planks, leg lifts, core holds, inverted positions that brought my face far too close to his ass. Sweat dripped off him steadily, spattering onto the mat. Onto me.
And I couldn’t hide it. The hard-on was constant. I stopped even trying to adjust. My shirt stuck to my chest, my hair damp against my forehead, my jaw clenched.
Casper never said a word.
When we finished, he checked his watch, nodded once, and said, “Same time tomorrow.”
I nodded, breath still catching. “Okay.”
He was already walking away.
The next morning, he was already stretching when I arrived. Same gym, same silence. But this time, he was wearing a singlet.
Not just any singlet. A dark, skin-tight one that clung to his body like it was trying to mold itself to him.
It took everything in me not to freeze in the doorway.
The straps framed his shoulders cleanly, leaving the muscles of his upper back completely bare. His ass looked obscene—round and flexed through the thin, taut fabric, the curve exaggerated every time he bent over to adjust a weight or roll his spine.
When he turned, I nearly swallowed my tongue.
The front of the singlet wasn’t padded. At all. It hugged him tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. His package was full, prominent, outlined clearly enough that my brain short-circuited trying to avoid staring while still taking it in.
He caught me looking once—maybe. His eyes flicked up from his wristwatch and landed on my face, unreadable.
“Warm up.”
His voice was as flat as ever, but it hit differently now. I peeled my hoodie off in a daze and stepped onto the mat, already hard.
The drills were tougher that day. Longer holds, deeper stretches, more bodyweight resistance. Casper kept me low to the ground for most of it, hips open, thighs shaking, shoulders down. Half the time, he stood or bent right in front of me. His ass filled my field of vision. Sweat glistened along the crease where his thigh met his glutes, soaking darker into the fabric.
At one point, during a set of slow body saws, he crouched down to correct my shoulders. His body lowered right in front of me, the stretch of the singlet taut between his legs.
I was panting, straining, but it wasn’t from the workout.
By the third session, I’d stopped pretending I wasn’t hard.
Every morning, the same thing happened: Casper in that goddamn singlet, moving with total calm while I sweated, shook, and tried not to lose it.
He never commented.
Not once.
Not when sweat poured down my back. Not when his own sweat dripped onto my arms and neck. Not when I started leaking into my shorts like a desperate idiot, cock aching from the friction, from the heat, from the way he looked when he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck mid-stretch.
He just kept adjusting my form.
“Lower. No, lower than that.”
“Hold it.”
“Don’t lock your knees.”
“Open your hips.”
Always the same calm tone. Always the same impossible control.
And I kept obeying.
I showed up every morning, on time, eager, hoping to please.
But all he ever said at the end was: “Same time tomorrow.”
I’d walk out dizzy. Throbbing. Ruined.
I didn’t know how much longer I could take it.
It was the sixth session.
The gym felt even smaller that morning. Maybe it was the heat, or the way the lights flickered faintly in the corners, or just how soaked I already was thirty minutes in. My shirt stuck to me like a towel that had already been used. My legs ached, my core burned. And still, as always, I was hard.
Casper had me holding a deep squat against the wall, arms forward, back flat. My thighs trembled. My breath came in short bursts. He circled in front of me, barefoot on the mat, arms crossed.
He’d worn a singlet again.
This time it was grey. Lighter. The sweat had already begun soaking through, tracing darker lines down his chest, lower down his abs. His package was outlined so clearly now it didn’t feel like clothing. It felt like an invitation to stare. Like torment.
He stopped in front of me, tilted his head slightly.
“You’re still not improving.”
I blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”
“Your form,” he said. “It’s inconsistent. Your hips aren’t staying level. Your knees collapse inward when you’re tired. Your shoulders lock up.”
He stepped closer.
“I’ve pushed you. Spotted you. Adjusted you. Still not seeing what I want.”
I stared at the mat, trying to slow my breathing.
His voice lowered. “You know what I think’s getting in your way?”
I swallowed. “No.”
Casper stepped in until I could smell him. The sharpness of salt and skin and fabric soaked through. His crotch was almost eye-level.
“I think it’s this,” he said quietly.
I followed his gaze.
He was staring directly at my bulge.
My breath caught. I didn’t move.
“You’ve been hard every morning,” he said. Still calm. Still unreadable. “Pretty much from the second I say warm up.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
Casper knelt in front of me. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world. The singlet stretched along his thighs, the material at his crotch pulling tight. He reached out, gripped the bottom of my shirt, and peeled it up and off without asking.
“You’re distracted,” he said simply.
I nodded. Or maybe I just didn’t stop him.
His hand settled briefly on my chest, palm flat, warm and slick. “I want you to take care of it.”
I looked at him, eyes wide.
“Now?” I breathed.
Casper raised a brow like it was a dumb question. “Unless you’d rather keep failing.”
I froze. My cock throbbed in my shorts.
“OK,” I said.
His voice shifted, just slightly.
“Good.”
Then casually, almost like he was bored: “You can lick my balls while you’re doing it. If you want to.”
My entire body went hot.
My brain screamed at me to hesitate. To question. To ask what this meant. But my mouth stayed shut.
Casper stood, slow and deliberate, and slipped the straps of his singlet down off his shoulders. The fabric peeled away, rolling to his waist.
Then he stepped out of it completely.
Naked from the waist down. Skin flushed. Balls slick with sweat. His huge cock swung with the swagger of a prize fighter above them, not hard, not focused on me.
He didn’t have to be.
“Your choice,” he said, voice flat.
I knelt forward before I even knew I was moving.
I lay back without thinking, shoulders flat to the mat, shorts pushed down just enough to free myself. My hand wrapped around my cock automatically. I was already leaking, so hard it almost hurt.
Casper stepped over me, one foot on either side of my chest, then slowly crouched. His thighs brushed against my arms as he lowered himself, his balls settling just above my face. Heavy. Damp. The scent hit immediately: sweat and skin and something raw underneath. My throat tightened.
I stared up at him, still stroking, heart pounding.
I didn’t want it to happen like this.
I wanted—God, I wanted something real. A kiss. His cock in my mouth. Maybe even… sex. I’d thought about it. Him pushing into me. Fucking me. That kind of thing.
This wasn’t that.
This was just his balls in my face. Just sweat and heat and maybe a little lust.
But it was still him.
And it was more than I’d ever had.
You can still say no.
You don’t have to—
Another drop of sweat landed just above my lip.
That was it.
I groaned and jerked harder, dizzy from the smell. My face felt flushed, skin prickling like I was too close to something I couldn’t touch. I could see the hair at the base of his cock, dark and damp. His balls hung so close now I could feel the heat off them.
I shouldn’t want this. Not like this. But I did.
I tilted my head. My lips parted. My tongue met skin—slick, warm, a little bitter—and I started to lick.
Above me, Casper didn’t move.
“Thought so,” he said. Just that. No tone. No praise.
And I kept going.
His balls were hot against my tongue. The skin was loose and slick, the taste sharp with sweat. I dragged the tip of my tongue along the underside, slow at first, just to feel it. Just to prove to myself it was real.
My cock jumped in my hand.
I stroked harder, groaning low in my throat, barely holding back. Every time I licked, my hand jerked up in response. Like one sensation fed the other.
I opened my mouth wider, taking more of him in. The weight of his sac pressed against my lips now. I could smell him with every breath—thick and male and perfect. Sweat rolled off him and hit my face in little drops. I didn’t care.
My hand was wet with pre-cum. Every stroke dragged along the shaft like I’d been edging for hours. Maybe I had, in a way. Days of buildup. Mornings of training. Of staring at him. Of doing nothing.
Now I was under him, and my cock felt like it was going to explode.
I licked again, rougher this time, flicking the tip of my tongue right between his balls, just to see how it felt. The texture. The give. The heat.
I moaned.
My fingers sped up. I could feel how close I was, already pulsing. My thighs tensed, heels digging into the mat. I was soaked in sweat, his and mine both, my body sliding a little every time I shifted.
Above me, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t moan. Didn’t even grunt. He just stayed there, letting me do it.
And somehow that made it worse. Better? Definitely more intense.
I pressed my mouth higher, lapping slowly, breath on skin. I loved the taste. I hadn’t expected to. I thought I’d be grossed out. But I wasn’t. Not even close.
I was obsessed.
My cock throbbed like it knew exactly what I was doing. Like it was grateful.
I stroked faster, rougher, hips twitching off the mat.
My mouth was full of the scent of him. The taste of sweat. My face was flushed, lips swollen, body burning. I moaned again, louder this time, right into his skin. I didn’t care how I sounded.
I was too far gone.
Too close.
Too desperate.
He adjusted his stance slightly. I felt it in the shift of his thighs. Then, without warning, he lifted his balls with one hand—just enough to pull them away from my mouth—and let them drop gently across my face.
The weight of them landed right over my nose and lips, damp and heavy and deliberate.
My cock jerked.
“Mmm,” Casper muttered, low. Almost a hum. “That’s it.”
Just that. No other praise. No instructions. Like he knew exactly what that would do to me.
It was over.
I groaned loud, body seizing, hand locked tight around my shaft as I came hard across my stomach. The first spurt hit high on my chest. The next coated my fingers. It kept coming, longer than I expected, messy and hot, and I didn’t stop licking even as my body bucked underneath him.
My head swam.
All I could feel were his balls on my face, his sweat in my mouth, and the ache in my cock finally breaking.
I let out a shaky breath, hand loosening as I finished, legs going limp on the mat.
And above me, Casper still hadn’t moved.
His weight lifted from my face. A breath of cooler air washed over me, shocking after the heat.
Casper stepped back, rolling his shoulders as if nothing unusual had happened. He picked up a towel, tossed it so it landed beside my hip.
“Wipe off,” he said. “Then let’s see if we can fix that form.”
My pulse hadn’t even slowed. Cum was still cooling on my skin. I dragged the towel over my stomach, chest, fingers shaking. The room felt tilted. Unreal. My mouth tasted of salt and cotton. I could still smell him.
He didn’t give me time to settle. “Up,” he repeated, like an ordinary drill command.
I pushed to my feet, legs weak, shorts hanging halfway down my thighs. He didn’t look at my mess, didn’t smirk. He just motioned to the wall bars.
“Wall sits. Deeper this time. Hold until I tell you to shift.”
I swallowed, tugged my shorts back in place, and moved. My thighs burned the second I sank into position. Sweat streaked down my temples. My cock was soft now, but every nerve felt blown open, skin buzzing.
Casper walked a slow circle, calm, eyes on my knees. No mention of what had happened thirty seconds earlier. No lingering stare at the towel on the floor.
Just training.
I tried to breathe evenly. My mind spun anyway.
I had just licked his balls. I had just come harder than I ever had, with him watching. Now I was back against a wall like nothing happened, thighs shaking, trying not to collapse.
Is this what coaching is for him? Is this the reward? The punishment?
I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I’d be here again tomorrow at 5:30, hoping—maybe a little scared even—he’d ask for more.
“Hold it,” he said, voice steady.
I locked my knees wide, chest up, sweat dripping from my chin. My muscles screamed, but a deeper ache settled low in my stomach, warm and restless.
I wasn’t sure which hurt worse: the burn in my legs or the need already coiling back into life.
Either way, I held the position and stared straight ahead, waiting for his next word.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thank you so much for reading my story; I hope you've enjoyed! If you'd like to read ahead in this story, access extra content like images and bonus chapters or read my other stories you can do so here
Thank you both; I'm so excited that you're all enjoying this story so much!
Awesome reading---you are a very talented writer. Great with your character development and your use of hot and intense words--GREAT!!!
Fucking hell. We all need a Casper in our life
Hot as fuck and I hope there's a lot more to cum ♡
Hot as fuck and I hope there's a lot more to cum ♡
Fucking hell. We all need a Casper in our life
Hot as fuck and I hope there's a lot more to cum ♡
Thank you all so, so much! This is what keeps me motivated to keep writing and sharing.
All of my stories are drawn from my own experiences and each one has a slice of me in them. It's kind of like having people nut to stories about my past... Too much fun.
Chapter 9 will be out tonight for everyone who needs a little more of these boys in their life!
Chapter 9: Working the Glutes
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
When I got back to the dorm, the hallway lights were still dim, like the building hadn’t caught up to the morning yet. My shirt stuck to my back with cold sweat, and my legs ached in that hollow way that didn’t feel like progress, just exhaustion. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t even wiped my face. My jaw was tight. My lips felt raw.
Mason was already up, just stepping out of his room with his phone in one hand and a granola bar in the other. His shirt was halfway pulled over his head, hair flattened on one side from sleep.
He blinked at me. “Back already?”
I nodded. “Coach Casper had me doing circuits. Core work.”
“Brutal,” he said through a yawn. “He’s really working you lately, huh?”
“Guess I need it.”
Mason moved closer, squinting at my face. “You’ve got something right here,” he said, pointing just above my upper lip.
Before I could stop him, he reached out and plucked it.
I flinched. “What the hell?”
“Chill.” He held it between two fingers, inspecting it. “Wait a sec…”
He squinted harder. “Is this… a hair?”
I said nothing.
“It’s uhh,” he said, turning it toward the light. “Curly. Dude, this is a pube.”
My chest locked up.
Mason gave me a slow, smug grin. “Bro. What were you doing on those mats?”
“It’s probably just from rolling around,” I muttered. “Shit gets everywhere.”
“Yeah? It rolled up and planted itself on your lip?” He laughed, holding it out like it was evidence. “You face-plant into someone’s lap mid-drill?”
I didn’t answer.
Mason kept chuckling as he walked to the trash and flicked it in. “Whatever, man. Your life. Just wash your damn face next time you get… up close with someone.”
He opened the door and tossed a “Later” over his shoulder before heading out to breakfast.
I stood in the silence after, heart hammering in my chest. I hadn’t even realized it was there.
He must have known.
I replayed his face, the grin, the way he’d said it. You face-plant into someone’s lap? He’d seen it. He knew exactly what it was.
It was Casper’s.
I’d had his pube on my face.
My skin went hot with shame, my ears roaring. What if Mason had actually connected the dots? What if he was laughing about it right now, texting someone, already sharing the story?
Nah, I told myself. He doesn’t know I was alone with Casper. He just thinks we were doing team drills or something. He probably thought it really was from the mat, just gym grossness.
Mason teased about everything. That didn’t mean he knew.
I swallowed hard and grabbed the towel off my desk, wiping my face even though I knew it was too late. The damage was done. Not just to my pride, but to my sense of reality. Because now I couldn’t stop imagining what I must’ve looked like—walking into the dorm with dried sweat on my skin, cum still crusted under my waistband, and Casper’s hair stuck to my lip like a brand.
And I hadn’t even noticed.
I wasn’t in control anymore. Not of my body. Not of my thoughts. Not of anything.
I dropped the towel, sat down hard on my bed, and stared at the floor. I was exhausted. Wired. And already dreading the next text from Casper.
But I also knew I’d go. Whatever he said, whatever time—I'd be there.
That single hair might’ve said more than either of us ever had.
I forced myself up and into the tiny dorm bathroom. The overhead light was too bright, too harsh. I splashed cold water on my face, again and again, like I could scrub away the memory, the sweat, the smell.
My whole face burned.
I brushed my teeth with quick, clumsy strokes, rinsed my mouth twice, and ran a damp hand through my hair. No time for a shower. If I waited too long, Mason might already be gone, and I needed to see him. Read him. Test whether he actually knew or was just messing around the way he always did.
I pulled on a clean shirt, shoved my wallet in my pocket, and headed out fast, skipping socks and double-checking I didn’t still smell like sex. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t trust myself anymore to know the difference between sweat and guilt.
The air outside was sharp and clean, almost cruel. I spotted Mason up ahead, already walking toward the dining hall. I jogged to catch up, pulse kicking in my ears.
“Wait up,” I called.
He turned, saw me, and grinned. “Didn’t think you were gonna make it.”
I forced a smile. “I needed food.”
“Good. You look like you burned five thousand calories in there.”
He bumped my shoulder lightly as we walked.
I laughed—too loud, too fake. “Yeah, Casper’s intense.”
“Clearly,” he said, then added nothing else.
My stomach tightened.
No jokes. No follow-up. No more teasing about face-planting or teabagging. Just silence.
Which, somehow, felt worse.
Had he dropped it because it was just a joke?
Or because he actually knew and didn’t want to push?
I nodded along to something he said about the eggs in the dining hall being powdered again. I wasn’t listening. All I could think was: Does he know it was Casper’s? Does he know what I did?
I sat across from him with a plate I didn’t touch and a brain I couldn’t shut off, watching every blink, every grin, every word, trying to decode the truth behind his silence.
We walked our trays back together. Mason tossed his napkin away and nudged my elbow as we stepped into the hall.
“Hey,” he said, voice light but eyes a touch too sharp. “Think about showering before class today, alright?”
I blinked. “Do I stink?”
He shrugged. “Not like sweat. More like… you know—gym mats and mystery fibers.” A teasing grin slid across his face, and he touched me briefly on the top of my lip causing the heat to rise again. “Wouldn’t want the TA pulling another hair off you in chem lab.”
Then he clapped my shoulder and sauntered off toward the science building, earbuds already in. No follow-up, no laughter drifting back. Just that one needling reminder.
I still couldn’t tell if he actually knew.
The day passed in a haze, like I’d sleepwalked through it. I made it to class, but I couldn’t tell you what anyone said. My notebook stayed mostly blank. I doodled in the margins, rings, torsos, outlines of bodies with no faces. My stomach twisted when I caught myself shading in thick thighs and narrow waists.
Casper’s voice kept looping in my head: Take care of it. Quickly.
Mason’s too: Wouldn’t want the TA pulling another hair off you.
I couldn’t tell which haunted me more.
Every time I shifted in my seat, I swore I could still feel sweat drying on my skin. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t a big deal, guys joke around, Mason always talks shit, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the pube incident wasn’t over. That it meant something. That someone—maybe both of them—knew something I didn’t want to admit even to myself.
I went to the gym after lunch and tried to focus on my own routine. Nothing fancy, just parallel bars and some basic strength work. But even then, I felt exposed. Like someone could walk by and see that my muscles were tense for the wrong reasons. That I wasn’t just working out, I was coping.
That night, I stared at the ceiling long after lights-out. The room was quiet, just Mason’s slow breathing from the other bed and the occasional creak of the heater. I lay there, fully aware of my body, of the ache in my thighs, the edge that still hadn’t gone away.
I could only imagine what tomorrow would bring, and I’m pretty sure from the way I woke up that I did.
Hard, before the first alarm, every nerve still tingling with sexual current.
The air in the dorm was cold, and my limbs ached like they’d been clenched all night. I moved slowly, quietly, trying not to wake Mason as I dressed in the dark—singlet under sweats, hoodie zipped high, mouth dry. I didn’t even check my phone.
By the time I stepped outside, the campus was still asleep. The walk to the gym felt colder than usual, like my body was trying to remind me what it was about to walk back into.
The small side entrance to the smaller gym building we’d been using clicked open with Casper’s spare staff card. I could hear the lights humming before I saw him—already stretching under the rings, head down, back curved, singlet clinging to his hips like second skin.
My cock twitched just from the sight.
He didn’t look up when I entered, just said, “You’re late,” even though I wasn’t.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
I peeled off my hoodie and sweats, standing there in just my own navy singlet. The fabric clung in all the worst ways. I told myself I was fine. That yesterday had been a one-off. That I could keep it together.
But the moment Casper rose and turned toward me, sweat already glistening in the notch of his throat, it hit me again, the memory of his body over mine, the weight of his balls on my mouth, the taste.
And I was hard. Already.
He stepped closer to adjust the chalk tray. I hadn’t even moved yet. His hands hadn’t touched me.
Still hard.
Still fucking hard.
I shifted my stance, tried to hide it, but the singlet made that impossible. The outline of my cock was right there, pressing against the fabric like it had a mind of its own.
Casper turned. His eyes flicked down once, brief, unreadable.
Then he sighed.
“You’re not even trying anymore.”
My throat tightened. “I am—”
“No, you’re not. You were hard before I even looked at you.” He stepped closer, voice flat. “You’re still thinking about yesterday, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
He pointed to the mat. “You need to get rid of the distraction. Now.”
My stomach flipped.
“I can’t focus with you—” I started.
“That’s not my problem,” he said, already peeling his singlet halfway down. “Fix it. Then we train.”
My hands trembled as I reached for my cock again, the air thick with sweat, silence, and everything we weren’t saying.
I stepped out of the singlet, folding it once and setting it by the wall. The chill of the gym hit my skin, but Casper’s stare felt hotter than the lights overhead. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He just watched me.
I lay back on the mat, flat, my skin sticking faintly to the vinyl. My knees bent up, cock already hard against my stomach. I wrapped my hand around it and started stroking slowly, trying to calm my breathing.
Casper stayed standing, arms crossed. His eyes followed the motion of my fist, his face unreadable. There was something in the silence that made my heart beat even faster. Not encouragement. Not disgust. Just total control.
I adjusted, my thumb brushing the head. A low sound slipped from my throat, soft and involuntary.
Casper stepped forward. His singlet hung open at the waist, cock soft but thick, balls hanging low and heavy. He crouched beside me, his knee close to my ribs, and let his sac hang just above my lips. I could smell him immediately—sweat, skin, something faintly bitter and dizzying.
“Keep going,” he said.
I jerked harder, tongue darting out to touch him. I licked softly at first, tracing the curve of each ball and tasting salt. The skin was warm and slick, the smell sharp in my nose. My pace quickened, hips twitching as pleasure coiled low in my gut. I let my tongue work in slow circles, then broad, greedy laps, feeling the heft of him sway against my lips while my fist pumped faster and wetter around my cock.
Casper shifted his stance, sliding forward an inch. His balls slipped away from my tongue. I craned my neck, searching, and caught the very edge of one with a quick lick. He shifted again, but slower, like he was testing me. I followed, trying to keep contact, unsure if I had lost the right position or if he was adjusting for balance. My mouth found him once more, licking the underside, but then he eased forward a second time, deliberate now, his sac gliding over my chin and out of reach.
Confusion flashed hot through me. I started to lift my head, ready to reposition, when the new heat pressed against my lips: tight, slick, unmistakably him.
Then Casper leaned forward for real. His balls were gone from reach, and I found the slick heat of his asshole pressing against my mouth.
He stayed there. No words. Just offering.
I understood.
I pushed in with my tongue, licking cautiously at first. The taste was stronger here, all salt, sweat, and something earthy I didn’t know I’d crave. My fist kept sliding over my cock, slick with pre-cum, each stroke timed to the slow circles of my tongue. I’d stared at this ass for weeks during drills, imagining what it would feel like to bury my face here. Now it was real, warm against my mouth, every breath filled with his scent.
I flattened my tongue and pressed harder, tracing the tight ring, teasing the center. My nose nudged the base of his spine. My jaw ached, hand working faster on my shaft, pleasure tightening in my stomach. I licked again, greedier, savoring every slick pass.
I had no idea how long I’d been going. My thoughts were a blur of scent and motion and the obscene pressure in my cock. I could feel sweat dripping off both of us, landing on my chest and smearing between my fingers as I pumped. Every time I tried to slow down, something in me screamed to keep going—like if I stopped, Casper might take it away.
I sucked the rim gently, trying to draw more of him into my mouth, tongue pushing deeper with each stroke. I wanted to taste everything. To memorize the texture. To earn some sound from him, something more than silence. And beneath it all, I wanted him to feel it. To want it.
Then he let out a sound—low, rough, almost a growl—and shifted his weight. One hand dropped to the mat to brace himself. His hips pushed back, just slightly, as if to let me in further.
That sound wrecked me. It wasn’t approval. It wasn’t praise. It was hunger.
Casper’s free hand slid to his cock. I felt the shift of his hips as his fingers wrapped around the thick shaft and began to pump, slow at first, then firmer. The wet slide of skin on skin filled the silence, each stroke matched by the flex of muscle under my tongue. I peeked up and saw his fist working, veins standing out in his forearm, precum glistening at the tip. The sight sent a hot pulse through my spine.
My own strokes grew frantic. My tongue pushed deeper, tracing tight circles while my hand raced along my cock. The taste of him, the sound of his breath hitching, and the glare of overhead lights spinning in my eyes blurred into a single, perfect rush. Pleasure coiled tight and snapped—I came hard across my chest and stomach, hips jerking up, moan muffled against his rim as my release spattered warm over my fingers and skin.
I had the most mind shattering orgasm of my life, right then and there on the mats. I shook and shuddered as I spent myself while Casper watched and stroked his thick, veiny cock lazily above me. My tongue gave out in the throes of my ecstasy but I would have kept licking, if I could have.
Casper, stopped his stroking, steadied himself, then stood and pulled his singlet back up. His voice was flat again. “Up. Rings routine. Three sets.”
I wiped myself off with the edge of my singlet, still dazed, chest sticky, mouth tingling. My legs shook when I stood, but Casper didn’t wait. He was already chalking his hands, already back in coach mode.
We ran the drills like nothing had happened.
Casper barked corrections, adjusted my grip, gave a mild nod when I finally hit a clean dismount on the third set. I could barely breathe by the end, lungs raw, arms trembling, thighs coated in sweat. My cock, thankfully, stayed soft—spent and sore—but my mind wasn’t. It spun in circles, chasing everything I didn’t understand.
After we wrapped, I ducked into the gym washroom before heading out. I locked the stall and leaned into the mirror, scanning my face, my chest, my shoulders. I ran my fingers along my jaw, then down my neck. No hairs. No smudges. Nothing left behind this time.
I rinsed my mouth. Brushed my teeth with my finger and water. Just to feel clean. Just to be extra sure.
But nothing helped.
He hadn’t kissed me. Hadn’t touched me with any kind of care. Just held his body over mine and let me lick him. Or maybe he used me. I didn’t know which it was.
I wanted to feel special. I wanted to feel chosen.
Instead, I felt trained.
I left the washroom still tasting him, still unsure if I was becoming what he wanted, or just getting better at letting him take what he already decided was his.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thank you so much for reading my story; I hope you've enjoyed! If you'd like to read ahead in this story, access extra content like images and bonus chapters or read my other stories you can do so here
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
When I got back to the dorm, the hallway lights were still dim, like the building hadn’t caught up to the morning yet. My shirt stuck to my back with cold sweat, and my legs ached in that hollow way that didn’t feel like progress, just exhaustion. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t even wiped my face. My jaw was tight. My lips felt raw.
Mason was already up, just stepping out of his room with his phone in one hand and a granola bar in the other. His shirt was halfway pulled over his head, hair flattened on one side from sleep.
He blinked at me. “Back already?”
I nodded. “Coach Casper had me doing circuits. Core work.”
“Brutal,” he said through a yawn. “He’s really working you lately, huh?”
“Guess I need it.”
Mason moved closer, squinting at my face. “You’ve got something right here,” he said, pointing just above my upper lip.
Before I could stop him, he reached out and plucked it.
I flinched. “What the hell?”
“Chill.” He held it between two fingers, inspecting it. “Wait a sec…”
He squinted harder. “Is this… a hair?”
I said nothing.
“It’s uhh,” he said, turning it toward the light. “Curly. Dude, this is a pube.”
My chest locked up.
Mason gave me a slow, smug grin. “Bro. What were you doing on those mats?”
“It’s probably just from rolling around,” I muttered. “Shit gets everywhere.”
“Yeah? It rolled up and planted itself on your lip?” He laughed, holding it out like it was evidence. “You face-plant into someone’s lap mid-drill?”
I didn’t answer.
Mason kept chuckling as he walked to the trash and flicked it in. “Whatever, man. Your life. Just wash your damn face next time you get… up close with someone.”
He opened the door and tossed a “Later” over his shoulder before heading out to breakfast.
I stood in the silence after, heart hammering in my chest. I hadn’t even realized it was there.
He must have known.
I replayed his face, the grin, the way he’d said it. You face-plant into someone’s lap? He’d seen it. He knew exactly what it was.
It was Casper’s.
I’d had his pube on my face.
My skin went hot with shame, my ears roaring. What if Mason had actually connected the dots? What if he was laughing about it right now, texting someone, already sharing the story?
Nah, I told myself. He doesn’t know I was alone with Casper. He just thinks we were doing team drills or something. He probably thought it really was from the mat, just gym grossness.
Mason teased about everything. That didn’t mean he knew.
I swallowed hard and grabbed the towel off my desk, wiping my face even though I knew it was too late. The damage was done. Not just to my pride, but to my sense of reality. Because now I couldn’t stop imagining what I must’ve looked like—walking into the dorm with dried sweat on my skin, cum still crusted under my waistband, and Casper’s hair stuck to my lip like a brand.
And I hadn’t even noticed.
I wasn’t in control anymore. Not of my body. Not of my thoughts. Not of anything.
I dropped the towel, sat down hard on my bed, and stared at the floor. I was exhausted. Wired. And already dreading the next text from Casper.
But I also knew I’d go. Whatever he said, whatever time—I'd be there.
That single hair might’ve said more than either of us ever had.
I forced myself up and into the tiny dorm bathroom. The overhead light was too bright, too harsh. I splashed cold water on my face, again and again, like I could scrub away the memory, the sweat, the smell.
My whole face burned.
I brushed my teeth with quick, clumsy strokes, rinsed my mouth twice, and ran a damp hand through my hair. No time for a shower. If I waited too long, Mason might already be gone, and I needed to see him. Read him. Test whether he actually knew or was just messing around the way he always did.
I pulled on a clean shirt, shoved my wallet in my pocket, and headed out fast, skipping socks and double-checking I didn’t still smell like sex. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t trust myself anymore to know the difference between sweat and guilt.
The air outside was sharp and clean, almost cruel. I spotted Mason up ahead, already walking toward the dining hall. I jogged to catch up, pulse kicking in my ears.
“Wait up,” I called.
He turned, saw me, and grinned. “Didn’t think you were gonna make it.”
I forced a smile. “I needed food.”
“Good. You look like you burned five thousand calories in there.”
He bumped my shoulder lightly as we walked.
I laughed—too loud, too fake. “Yeah, Casper’s intense.”
“Clearly,” he said, then added nothing else.
My stomach tightened.
No jokes. No follow-up. No more teasing about face-planting or teabagging. Just silence.
Which, somehow, felt worse.
Had he dropped it because it was just a joke?
Or because he actually knew and didn’t want to push?
I nodded along to something he said about the eggs in the dining hall being powdered again. I wasn’t listening. All I could think was: Does he know it was Casper’s? Does he know what I did?
I sat across from him with a plate I didn’t touch and a brain I couldn’t shut off, watching every blink, every grin, every word, trying to decode the truth behind his silence.
We walked our trays back together. Mason tossed his napkin away and nudged my elbow as we stepped into the hall.
“Hey,” he said, voice light but eyes a touch too sharp. “Think about showering before class today, alright?”
I blinked. “Do I stink?”
He shrugged. “Not like sweat. More like… you know—gym mats and mystery fibers.” A teasing grin slid across his face, and he touched me briefly on the top of my lip causing the heat to rise again. “Wouldn’t want the TA pulling another hair off you in chem lab.”
Then he clapped my shoulder and sauntered off toward the science building, earbuds already in. No follow-up, no laughter drifting back. Just that one needling reminder.
I still couldn’t tell if he actually knew.
The day passed in a haze, like I’d sleepwalked through it. I made it to class, but I couldn’t tell you what anyone said. My notebook stayed mostly blank. I doodled in the margins, rings, torsos, outlines of bodies with no faces. My stomach twisted when I caught myself shading in thick thighs and narrow waists.
Casper’s voice kept looping in my head: Take care of it. Quickly.
Mason’s too: Wouldn’t want the TA pulling another hair off you.
I couldn’t tell which haunted me more.
Every time I shifted in my seat, I swore I could still feel sweat drying on my skin. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t a big deal, guys joke around, Mason always talks shit, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the pube incident wasn’t over. That it meant something. That someone—maybe both of them—knew something I didn’t want to admit even to myself.
I went to the gym after lunch and tried to focus on my own routine. Nothing fancy, just parallel bars and some basic strength work. But even then, I felt exposed. Like someone could walk by and see that my muscles were tense for the wrong reasons. That I wasn’t just working out, I was coping.
That night, I stared at the ceiling long after lights-out. The room was quiet, just Mason’s slow breathing from the other bed and the occasional creak of the heater. I lay there, fully aware of my body, of the ache in my thighs, the edge that still hadn’t gone away.
I could only imagine what tomorrow would bring, and I’m pretty sure from the way I woke up that I did.
Hard, before the first alarm, every nerve still tingling with sexual current.
The air in the dorm was cold, and my limbs ached like they’d been clenched all night. I moved slowly, quietly, trying not to wake Mason as I dressed in the dark—singlet under sweats, hoodie zipped high, mouth dry. I didn’t even check my phone.
By the time I stepped outside, the campus was still asleep. The walk to the gym felt colder than usual, like my body was trying to remind me what it was about to walk back into.
The small side entrance to the smaller gym building we’d been using clicked open with Casper’s spare staff card. I could hear the lights humming before I saw him—already stretching under the rings, head down, back curved, singlet clinging to his hips like second skin.
My cock twitched just from the sight.
He didn’t look up when I entered, just said, “You’re late,” even though I wasn’t.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
I peeled off my hoodie and sweats, standing there in just my own navy singlet. The fabric clung in all the worst ways. I told myself I was fine. That yesterday had been a one-off. That I could keep it together.
But the moment Casper rose and turned toward me, sweat already glistening in the notch of his throat, it hit me again, the memory of his body over mine, the weight of his balls on my mouth, the taste.
And I was hard. Already.
He stepped closer to adjust the chalk tray. I hadn’t even moved yet. His hands hadn’t touched me.
Still hard.
Still fucking hard.
I shifted my stance, tried to hide it, but the singlet made that impossible. The outline of my cock was right there, pressing against the fabric like it had a mind of its own.
Casper turned. His eyes flicked down once, brief, unreadable.
Then he sighed.
“You’re not even trying anymore.”
My throat tightened. “I am—”
“No, you’re not. You were hard before I even looked at you.” He stepped closer, voice flat. “You’re still thinking about yesterday, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
He pointed to the mat. “You need to get rid of the distraction. Now.”
My stomach flipped.
“I can’t focus with you—” I started.
“That’s not my problem,” he said, already peeling his singlet halfway down. “Fix it. Then we train.”
My hands trembled as I reached for my cock again, the air thick with sweat, silence, and everything we weren’t saying.
I stepped out of the singlet, folding it once and setting it by the wall. The chill of the gym hit my skin, but Casper’s stare felt hotter than the lights overhead. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He just watched me.
I lay back on the mat, flat, my skin sticking faintly to the vinyl. My knees bent up, cock already hard against my stomach. I wrapped my hand around it and started stroking slowly, trying to calm my breathing.
Casper stayed standing, arms crossed. His eyes followed the motion of my fist, his face unreadable. There was something in the silence that made my heart beat even faster. Not encouragement. Not disgust. Just total control.
I adjusted, my thumb brushing the head. A low sound slipped from my throat, soft and involuntary.
Casper stepped forward. His singlet hung open at the waist, cock soft but thick, balls hanging low and heavy. He crouched beside me, his knee close to my ribs, and let his sac hang just above my lips. I could smell him immediately—sweat, skin, something faintly bitter and dizzying.
“Keep going,” he said.
I jerked harder, tongue darting out to touch him. I licked softly at first, tracing the curve of each ball and tasting salt. The skin was warm and slick, the smell sharp in my nose. My pace quickened, hips twitching as pleasure coiled low in my gut. I let my tongue work in slow circles, then broad, greedy laps, feeling the heft of him sway against my lips while my fist pumped faster and wetter around my cock.
Casper shifted his stance, sliding forward an inch. His balls slipped away from my tongue. I craned my neck, searching, and caught the very edge of one with a quick lick. He shifted again, but slower, like he was testing me. I followed, trying to keep contact, unsure if I had lost the right position or if he was adjusting for balance. My mouth found him once more, licking the underside, but then he eased forward a second time, deliberate now, his sac gliding over my chin and out of reach.
Confusion flashed hot through me. I started to lift my head, ready to reposition, when the new heat pressed against my lips: tight, slick, unmistakably him.
Then Casper leaned forward for real. His balls were gone from reach, and I found the slick heat of his asshole pressing against my mouth.
He stayed there. No words. Just offering.
I understood.
I pushed in with my tongue, licking cautiously at first. The taste was stronger here, all salt, sweat, and something earthy I didn’t know I’d crave. My fist kept sliding over my cock, slick with pre-cum, each stroke timed to the slow circles of my tongue. I’d stared at this ass for weeks during drills, imagining what it would feel like to bury my face here. Now it was real, warm against my mouth, every breath filled with his scent.
I flattened my tongue and pressed harder, tracing the tight ring, teasing the center. My nose nudged the base of his spine. My jaw ached, hand working faster on my shaft, pleasure tightening in my stomach. I licked again, greedier, savoring every slick pass.
I had no idea how long I’d been going. My thoughts were a blur of scent and motion and the obscene pressure in my cock. I could feel sweat dripping off both of us, landing on my chest and smearing between my fingers as I pumped. Every time I tried to slow down, something in me screamed to keep going—like if I stopped, Casper might take it away.
I sucked the rim gently, trying to draw more of him into my mouth, tongue pushing deeper with each stroke. I wanted to taste everything. To memorize the texture. To earn some sound from him, something more than silence. And beneath it all, I wanted him to feel it. To want it.
Then he let out a sound—low, rough, almost a growl—and shifted his weight. One hand dropped to the mat to brace himself. His hips pushed back, just slightly, as if to let me in further.
That sound wrecked me. It wasn’t approval. It wasn’t praise. It was hunger.
Casper’s free hand slid to his cock. I felt the shift of his hips as his fingers wrapped around the thick shaft and began to pump, slow at first, then firmer. The wet slide of skin on skin filled the silence, each stroke matched by the flex of muscle under my tongue. I peeked up and saw his fist working, veins standing out in his forearm, precum glistening at the tip. The sight sent a hot pulse through my spine.
My own strokes grew frantic. My tongue pushed deeper, tracing tight circles while my hand raced along my cock. The taste of him, the sound of his breath hitching, and the glare of overhead lights spinning in my eyes blurred into a single, perfect rush. Pleasure coiled tight and snapped—I came hard across my chest and stomach, hips jerking up, moan muffled against his rim as my release spattered warm over my fingers and skin.
I had the most mind shattering orgasm of my life, right then and there on the mats. I shook and shuddered as I spent myself while Casper watched and stroked his thick, veiny cock lazily above me. My tongue gave out in the throes of my ecstasy but I would have kept licking, if I could have.
Casper, stopped his stroking, steadied himself, then stood and pulled his singlet back up. His voice was flat again. “Up. Rings routine. Three sets.”
I wiped myself off with the edge of my singlet, still dazed, chest sticky, mouth tingling. My legs shook when I stood, but Casper didn’t wait. He was already chalking his hands, already back in coach mode.
We ran the drills like nothing had happened.
Casper barked corrections, adjusted my grip, gave a mild nod when I finally hit a clean dismount on the third set. I could barely breathe by the end, lungs raw, arms trembling, thighs coated in sweat. My cock, thankfully, stayed soft—spent and sore—but my mind wasn’t. It spun in circles, chasing everything I didn’t understand.
After we wrapped, I ducked into the gym washroom before heading out. I locked the stall and leaned into the mirror, scanning my face, my chest, my shoulders. I ran my fingers along my jaw, then down my neck. No hairs. No smudges. Nothing left behind this time.
I rinsed my mouth. Brushed my teeth with my finger and water. Just to feel clean. Just to be extra sure.
But nothing helped.
He hadn’t kissed me. Hadn’t touched me with any kind of care. Just held his body over mine and let me lick him. Or maybe he used me. I didn’t know which it was.
I wanted to feel special. I wanted to feel chosen.
Instead, I felt trained.
I left the washroom still tasting him, still unsure if I was becoming what he wanted, or just getting better at letting him take what he already decided was his.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thank you so much for reading my story; I hope you've enjoyed! If you'd like to read ahead in this story, access extra content like images and bonus chapters or read my other stories you can do so here
If you all want a little extra.. visual stimulation.. to go along with the stories, I've started an Insta
There's filthy, dirty music too
Like and follow while you're there?
There's filthy, dirty music too
Like and follow while you're there?
Awesome update---great writing and characters as usual. ThanksIf you all want a little extra.. visual stimulation.. to go along with the stories, I've started an Insta
There's filthy, dirty music too
Like and follow while you're there?
Fuck me I love this story!!
There with you man for sureFuck me I love this story!!
I cannot wait for Casper to give him what he really wants. Hottttt story!!
Also, why the FUCK didn’t anything like this ever happen to me??
Life is so unfair.
Yes SirI cannot wait for Casper to give him what he really wants. Hottttt story!!
Also, why the FUCK didn’t anything like this ever happen to me??
Life is so unfair.
Chapter 10: Only When He Said I Could
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
I closed the gym door behind me with more care than it deserved, like if I eased it shut slow enough, it wouldn’t echo down the hallway and announce the state I was in.
The lights were still off in the dorm when I got back. Mason’s side of the room glowed faintly with the blue of his laptop, casting that weird underwater light over his bare chest as he scrolled with one hand and scratched his stomach with the other. He looked up as I walked in.
“Practice go late?”
I let my bag fall and nudged it out of the way with my foot. “Sort of.”
Mason didn’t say anything at first. He just watched me a second too long, his expression unreadable in the half-light. Then he clicked his trackpad, closed the screen, and leaned back in his chair.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I was halfway to the bathroom before I turned. “What thing?”
He tilted his head. “That thing you do when you come back from these early morning sessions with Coach Casper.”
I flushed hot. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Mason stood and stretched, arms overhead, ribs visible under his smooth skin. He always stretched like that, like he wanted to remind the room how much space he could occupy. “You’ve been weird all week. Kind of jumpy. Kinda quiet. Not your usual twitchy, like… off.”
I tried to keep my face blank. “I’m just tired.”
“Then let’s blow it off.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Friday. Drinks. You and me. Let’s go out somewhere. Clear your head.”
I almost laughed. “With what fake ID?”
Mason grinned, already walking to his dresser. He opened a drawer, dug around, and pulled out two pieces of plastic. “You think I didn’t plan ahead?”
He tossed mine across the room. I caught it, barely.
The photo was awful. The name wasn’t mine. BUT… the birth year put me squarely in legal territory.
“Could be fun,” Mason said, flopping down on his bed. “Or at least more fun than sitting around acting all haunted.”
I hesitated.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I said finally, voice thin. “Okay. Let’s go out.”
Mason nodded like he’d known I’d say yes all along. He reached for his phone and started texting someone. Probably scouting where to go, who to meet, who to charm.
I turned toward the bathroom, locking the door behind me with a quiet click.
I didn’t turn on the light right away.
I just stood there, hands braced on the edge of the sink, letting the darkness press in for a second.
Then I looked up and met my own reflection.
I didn’t look different, which was almost worse. Same hair falling over my forehead, same soft jaw, same too-pale skin. I looked tired, maybe. But not like someone who had done what I’d done.
Nothing about my face gave it away. Not the way my knees had dug into rubber matting, not the heat that had stayed in my cheeks all day after.
I ran the tap and let the water run cold before splashing it over my face. It didn’t help much. Everything still felt tight. Like my body was holding something I hadn’t gotten out.
There was a knock on the door. Mason’s voice came through, casual. “You good in there?”
“Yeah,” I called back, too fast.
He didn’t press.
I stayed a moment longer, hands braced on the edge of the sink, watching the water bead along my jaw before it fell. My mouth still tasted like nothing. But my brain wouldn’t stop inventing things—what it would taste like if I—
I cut the thought off and grabbed my toothbrush.
Friday night came fast.
The fake ID was primed in my pocket the whole way there, like a soldier ready for duty. We caught a ride with one of Mason’s friends from the team, a guy I barely knew, who kept talking about how “dead” the scene had been last weekend but swore this place would be different. Mason played along, tossing out names, asking who was working the bar, who might show. I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window.
The place looked older than I expected. Not a club, more like a lounge someone tried to make cool again with LED lights and loud playlists. We handed over our IDs and the bouncer didn’t blink. Just unhooked the velvet rope and let us through.
Inside was packed. Music too loud, bass thudding deep in the floor, the smell of old beer and new cologne mixing in a way that made my stomach twitch. Mason moved through it as though he wasn’t an underage college student who had no business being there. He ordered drinks without asking what I wanted. Rum and Coke, two of them. Passed me one with a grin.
“Try to enjoy yourself,” he shouted over the music. “That’s kind of the point.”
I nodded and took a sip. It was sweet and strong and exactly what I needed.
We found a table near the back, half-shadowed, with a view of the dance floor. Mason leaned against the railing, already scanning. He didn’t need to wait long.
A girl in a leather crop top made a beeline straight for him, barely said anything before she was touching his arm, laughing too loudly. Another followed, then another. They hovered, tilted their heads, reached for his biceps like it was an open bar. Mason let them. He smiled, joked, let them touch. But every few minutes he looked back at me, like he was checking that I was still okay.
I wasn’t sure what my face was doing. I smiled when it felt right. Laughed when something was probably meant to be funny. I even caught a glance or two from across the room, but no one came over. And I didn’t try to close the distance.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
Mason brought me another rum and coke.
The drink hit me slow. I didn’t feel drunk exactly, just soft. Like the edges of things had gone a little fuzzy. Time stopped behaving right. The lights looked warmer. My shirt stuck to my back from the heat of the crowd, but I didn’t mind it.
I must’ve zoned out because the next thing I knew, Mason was back at our table, pressing another glass into my hand. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He smiled at me — not the cocky one he gave everyone else, but the small one, the one that felt like it was just for me. “Let’s bounce soon. You look kind of done.”
I looked past him at the girls still lingering near the bar, one of them obviously waiting for him to come back.
“You don’t have to leave because of me.”
Mason shrugged. “I’ll live. Not like I’ve got a shortage of offers.”
He slung an arm around my shoulder, steadying me as we walked toward the door. “Besides,” he added, grinning down at me, “you’re cuter than half the girls in there.”
My face flushed hot, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the compliment.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“I mean it,” he said.
Then, before I could confuse the flattery for interest:
“Some girl will check out your goods in no time, dude, don’t worry about it!”
He added, “Someone will for sure…” and then flashed me one of those award-winning, all-teeth Mason smiles.
We stepped out into the night air. Cold hit me like a reset button. The pavement was damp, reflecting pinks and blues from the lights behind us. The street was lined with people — laughing, shouting, stumbling toward Ubers or leaning against walls while they waited.
That’s when I saw him.
Casper.
He was across the street, under the awning of another bar. Jacket half unzipped, one hand gripping the waist of a tall blonde in heels, the other curved around the back of her neck. They were kissing like they hadn’t seen each other in years — hungry, fast, mouths open, bodies pressed close. His hand slid up her side, fingers splaying across her breast like he didn’t care who saw.
My stomach dropped. My feet didn’t move.
She laughed against his mouth and swatted his hand like it was all part of the dance. He said something I couldn’t hear, leaned in again, harder this time. She responded. His fingers were under her top now. They didn’t stop.
A car pulled up. He opened the door, guided her in with a palm to the small of her back, then slid in beside her. The door shut. The car pulled away.
It happened fast.
But not fast enough for me to miss anything.
Mason followed my gaze. “Way to go, Coach,” he said with a laugh, like it was just some guy, just some moment.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
We walked in silence the rest of the way.
Saturday blurred.
I stayed in bed longer than I meant to, scrolling through my phone like something on it might explain what I’d seen. Casper’s hand on her waist. Casper’s mouth on hers. Casper getting into that Uber like he had nothing else waiting for him.
He hadn’t touched me the way he touched her. Not really. His hand never lingered. His voice never changed. There was no hunger. Just control.
And that should’ve made it easier. It didn’t.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Her perfect hair, his easy confidence. The way she arched into him like she belonged there. Like he wanted her to.
I thought about what it would be like to kiss him like that. To have him like that. Not the way he used me, not the mechanical stuff — but that. The messier kind. The kind you get when you’re both on the same page.
Mason kept his distance. He went out again that night. Didn’t ask if I wanted to come. Just tossed me a look on the way out that said he knew I wouldn’t.
I watched a movie I didn’t remember five minutes later.
Jerked off with the lights off, but it didn’t make things better.
Sunday was more of the same. I left the dorm once — just to get air — but the walk didn’t help. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d let something happen to me that meant nothing to him. Like I’d volunteered for a role he hadn’t even cast.
By the time I went to bed, I was more anxious than tired.
Monday was coming.
And I had no idea what would happen when I saw him again.
Casper hadn’t made me come in for training the last few mornings.
After the rim job — after I’d been face-deep between his legs on the gym mat, licking him like it was part of the warm-up — he gave me space. No texts. No drills. Just the usual silence, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
But then Sunday night, I got the text.
6:42 p.m.
Be at the gym tomorrow. Early. Back to routine.
I stared at it for a long time before typing a single word:
ok.
Now I was here. The gym looked exactly the same. But everything in me felt off.
Casper didn’t say hello. He was already moving, already deep into a shoulder roll as I dropped my bag near the rings.
“Warm up,” he said, nodding toward the far mats. “We’ve got work to do.”
I nodded, peeled off my hoodie, and dropped into a stretch. My body remembered the movements even if my brain was elsewhere. Lunge, twist, hold. Breathing slow, eyes fixed on the floor.
Casper moved around me, correcting things with touch and words. “Flatten your lower back. No, flatter. You’re compensating. Again.”
His hands weren’t aggressive, but every contact sparked heat. The way his palm skimmed my hip, the brush of his knee as he stepped between mine to show me the right angle — it was all normal. It was all technical. But I felt it everywhere.
We ran through drills. Hollow body holds. Tuck planche. Swing form. Casper didn’t speak much, and I didn’t dare.
But halfway through a shoulder mount hold, I slipped. Just a fraction. My legs shook. Casper adjusted my form with a firm touch. I tightened my core and tried to breathe through it, but I was already gone. My cock thickened in my shorts like it had been waiting all morning. The blood rushed faster than I could stop it.
Casper saw.
He let me hold the pose a second longer than he needed to. Then he stepped in and braced my hips with both hands.
“I see we’re still dealing with that tension. Must be what’s throwing off your form,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I can’t—”
He cut me off. “I thought last time would help.”
He let go of me. I collapsed onto the mat, panting.
“You came,” he said, voice calm. “You got it out of your system.”
I stayed on the floor, eyes on the seam in the mat. My cock was still tenting my shorts. Useless.
Casper sighed.
“Clearly jerking off isn’t enough,” he said. “Not when you’re this wound up.”
I didn’t say anything.
“On your knees.”
(Continued in next post...)
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
I closed the gym door behind me with more care than it deserved, like if I eased it shut slow enough, it wouldn’t echo down the hallway and announce the state I was in.
The lights were still off in the dorm when I got back. Mason’s side of the room glowed faintly with the blue of his laptop, casting that weird underwater light over his bare chest as he scrolled with one hand and scratched his stomach with the other. He looked up as I walked in.
“Practice go late?”
I let my bag fall and nudged it out of the way with my foot. “Sort of.”
Mason didn’t say anything at first. He just watched me a second too long, his expression unreadable in the half-light. Then he clicked his trackpad, closed the screen, and leaned back in his chair.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I was halfway to the bathroom before I turned. “What thing?”
He tilted his head. “That thing you do when you come back from these early morning sessions with Coach Casper.”
I flushed hot. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Mason stood and stretched, arms overhead, ribs visible under his smooth skin. He always stretched like that, like he wanted to remind the room how much space he could occupy. “You’ve been weird all week. Kind of jumpy. Kinda quiet. Not your usual twitchy, like… off.”
I tried to keep my face blank. “I’m just tired.”
“Then let’s blow it off.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Friday. Drinks. You and me. Let’s go out somewhere. Clear your head.”
I almost laughed. “With what fake ID?”
Mason grinned, already walking to his dresser. He opened a drawer, dug around, and pulled out two pieces of plastic. “You think I didn’t plan ahead?”
He tossed mine across the room. I caught it, barely.
The photo was awful. The name wasn’t mine. BUT… the birth year put me squarely in legal territory.
“Could be fun,” Mason said, flopping down on his bed. “Or at least more fun than sitting around acting all haunted.”
I hesitated.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I said finally, voice thin. “Okay. Let’s go out.”
Mason nodded like he’d known I’d say yes all along. He reached for his phone and started texting someone. Probably scouting where to go, who to meet, who to charm.
I turned toward the bathroom, locking the door behind me with a quiet click.
I didn’t turn on the light right away.
I just stood there, hands braced on the edge of the sink, letting the darkness press in for a second.
Then I looked up and met my own reflection.
I didn’t look different, which was almost worse. Same hair falling over my forehead, same soft jaw, same too-pale skin. I looked tired, maybe. But not like someone who had done what I’d done.
Nothing about my face gave it away. Not the way my knees had dug into rubber matting, not the heat that had stayed in my cheeks all day after.
I ran the tap and let the water run cold before splashing it over my face. It didn’t help much. Everything still felt tight. Like my body was holding something I hadn’t gotten out.
There was a knock on the door. Mason’s voice came through, casual. “You good in there?”
“Yeah,” I called back, too fast.
He didn’t press.
I stayed a moment longer, hands braced on the edge of the sink, watching the water bead along my jaw before it fell. My mouth still tasted like nothing. But my brain wouldn’t stop inventing things—what it would taste like if I—
I cut the thought off and grabbed my toothbrush.
Friday night came fast.
The fake ID was primed in my pocket the whole way there, like a soldier ready for duty. We caught a ride with one of Mason’s friends from the team, a guy I barely knew, who kept talking about how “dead” the scene had been last weekend but swore this place would be different. Mason played along, tossing out names, asking who was working the bar, who might show. I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window.
The place looked older than I expected. Not a club, more like a lounge someone tried to make cool again with LED lights and loud playlists. We handed over our IDs and the bouncer didn’t blink. Just unhooked the velvet rope and let us through.
Inside was packed. Music too loud, bass thudding deep in the floor, the smell of old beer and new cologne mixing in a way that made my stomach twitch. Mason moved through it as though he wasn’t an underage college student who had no business being there. He ordered drinks without asking what I wanted. Rum and Coke, two of them. Passed me one with a grin.
“Try to enjoy yourself,” he shouted over the music. “That’s kind of the point.”
I nodded and took a sip. It was sweet and strong and exactly what I needed.
We found a table near the back, half-shadowed, with a view of the dance floor. Mason leaned against the railing, already scanning. He didn’t need to wait long.
A girl in a leather crop top made a beeline straight for him, barely said anything before she was touching his arm, laughing too loudly. Another followed, then another. They hovered, tilted their heads, reached for his biceps like it was an open bar. Mason let them. He smiled, joked, let them touch. But every few minutes he looked back at me, like he was checking that I was still okay.
I wasn’t sure what my face was doing. I smiled when it felt right. Laughed when something was probably meant to be funny. I even caught a glance or two from across the room, but no one came over. And I didn’t try to close the distance.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
Mason brought me another rum and coke.
The drink hit me slow. I didn’t feel drunk exactly, just soft. Like the edges of things had gone a little fuzzy. Time stopped behaving right. The lights looked warmer. My shirt stuck to my back from the heat of the crowd, but I didn’t mind it.
I must’ve zoned out because the next thing I knew, Mason was back at our table, pressing another glass into my hand. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He smiled at me — not the cocky one he gave everyone else, but the small one, the one that felt like it was just for me. “Let’s bounce soon. You look kind of done.”
I looked past him at the girls still lingering near the bar, one of them obviously waiting for him to come back.
“You don’t have to leave because of me.”
Mason shrugged. “I’ll live. Not like I’ve got a shortage of offers.”
He slung an arm around my shoulder, steadying me as we walked toward the door. “Besides,” he added, grinning down at me, “you’re cuter than half the girls in there.”
My face flushed hot, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the compliment.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“I mean it,” he said.
Then, before I could confuse the flattery for interest:
“Some girl will check out your goods in no time, dude, don’t worry about it!”
He added, “Someone will for sure…” and then flashed me one of those award-winning, all-teeth Mason smiles.
We stepped out into the night air. Cold hit me like a reset button. The pavement was damp, reflecting pinks and blues from the lights behind us. The street was lined with people — laughing, shouting, stumbling toward Ubers or leaning against walls while they waited.
That’s when I saw him.
Casper.
He was across the street, under the awning of another bar. Jacket half unzipped, one hand gripping the waist of a tall blonde in heels, the other curved around the back of her neck. They were kissing like they hadn’t seen each other in years — hungry, fast, mouths open, bodies pressed close. His hand slid up her side, fingers splaying across her breast like he didn’t care who saw.
My stomach dropped. My feet didn’t move.
She laughed against his mouth and swatted his hand like it was all part of the dance. He said something I couldn’t hear, leaned in again, harder this time. She responded. His fingers were under her top now. They didn’t stop.
A car pulled up. He opened the door, guided her in with a palm to the small of her back, then slid in beside her. The door shut. The car pulled away.
It happened fast.
But not fast enough for me to miss anything.
Mason followed my gaze. “Way to go, Coach,” he said with a laugh, like it was just some guy, just some moment.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
We walked in silence the rest of the way.
Saturday blurred.
I stayed in bed longer than I meant to, scrolling through my phone like something on it might explain what I’d seen. Casper’s hand on her waist. Casper’s mouth on hers. Casper getting into that Uber like he had nothing else waiting for him.
He hadn’t touched me the way he touched her. Not really. His hand never lingered. His voice never changed. There was no hunger. Just control.
And that should’ve made it easier. It didn’t.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Her perfect hair, his easy confidence. The way she arched into him like she belonged there. Like he wanted her to.
I thought about what it would be like to kiss him like that. To have him like that. Not the way he used me, not the mechanical stuff — but that. The messier kind. The kind you get when you’re both on the same page.
Mason kept his distance. He went out again that night. Didn’t ask if I wanted to come. Just tossed me a look on the way out that said he knew I wouldn’t.
I watched a movie I didn’t remember five minutes later.
Jerked off with the lights off, but it didn’t make things better.
Sunday was more of the same. I left the dorm once — just to get air — but the walk didn’t help. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d let something happen to me that meant nothing to him. Like I’d volunteered for a role he hadn’t even cast.
By the time I went to bed, I was more anxious than tired.
Monday was coming.
And I had no idea what would happen when I saw him again.
Casper hadn’t made me come in for training the last few mornings.
After the rim job — after I’d been face-deep between his legs on the gym mat, licking him like it was part of the warm-up — he gave me space. No texts. No drills. Just the usual silence, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
But then Sunday night, I got the text.
6:42 p.m.
Be at the gym tomorrow. Early. Back to routine.
I stared at it for a long time before typing a single word:
ok.
Now I was here. The gym looked exactly the same. But everything in me felt off.
Casper didn’t say hello. He was already moving, already deep into a shoulder roll as I dropped my bag near the rings.
“Warm up,” he said, nodding toward the far mats. “We’ve got work to do.”
I nodded, peeled off my hoodie, and dropped into a stretch. My body remembered the movements even if my brain was elsewhere. Lunge, twist, hold. Breathing slow, eyes fixed on the floor.
Casper moved around me, correcting things with touch and words. “Flatten your lower back. No, flatter. You’re compensating. Again.”
His hands weren’t aggressive, but every contact sparked heat. The way his palm skimmed my hip, the brush of his knee as he stepped between mine to show me the right angle — it was all normal. It was all technical. But I felt it everywhere.
We ran through drills. Hollow body holds. Tuck planche. Swing form. Casper didn’t speak much, and I didn’t dare.
But halfway through a shoulder mount hold, I slipped. Just a fraction. My legs shook. Casper adjusted my form with a firm touch. I tightened my core and tried to breathe through it, but I was already gone. My cock thickened in my shorts like it had been waiting all morning. The blood rushed faster than I could stop it.
Casper saw.
He let me hold the pose a second longer than he needed to. Then he stepped in and braced my hips with both hands.
“I see we’re still dealing with that tension. Must be what’s throwing off your form,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I can’t—”
He cut me off. “I thought last time would help.”
He let go of me. I collapsed onto the mat, panting.
“You came,” he said, voice calm. “You got it out of your system.”
I stayed on the floor, eyes on the seam in the mat. My cock was still tenting my shorts. Useless.
Casper sighed.
“Clearly jerking off isn’t enough,” he said. “Not when you’re this wound up.”
I didn’t say anything.
“On your knees.”
(Continued in next post...)
Chapter 10: Only When He Said I Could (....Continued)
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
“On your knees.”
My stomach flipped. I looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. Not playful. Not angry. Just matter-of-fact.
I swallowed and shifted, my knees pressing down into the soft vinyl.
Casper stepped closer. Unfastened his waistband. His cock was already half-hard.
He didn’t speak at first. Just looked down at me, then tilted his head slightly, like something wasn’t right.
“Take everything off,” he said.
My throat tightened.
“All of it,” he added, like it was obvious.
I hesitated, just long enough to feel the heat crawl up my chest. Then I stood. My hands went to my waistband.
Casper didn’t look away. He just watched.
First the compression shorts. Then the shirt. Socks. Everything in a small pile at the edge of the mat. I knelt again, bare this time, my skin already prickling from the air and his eyes.
My dick was hard — of course it was — pulsing now that nothing covered it. I tried to shift without being obvious, but I saw the flicker of a smirk at the edge of his mouth when it twitched against my thigh.
He didn’t comment.
Didn’t touch me.
Just stepped forward and guided his cock to my mouth.
It was heavy on my tongue, already thickening as I wrapped my lips around it. I adjusted my angle, flattening my tongue to take him deeper. He tasted clean, like skin and sweat and something unmistakably man.
His hand rested at the back of my head. Not pressing. Just there.
I started to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, letting the rhythm settle in. My own cock bobbed slightly as I worked, untouched but stiff, aching with every movement of my jaw.
Casper didn’t speak much. Just the occasional murmur.
“Slower.”
“Use your tongue there.”
“Good. Just like that.”
I could hear his breath shifting. Not panting. Just heavier. He jerked his hips forward once — not rough, just enough to make me choke a little — then steadied again.
My hand drifted to my cock. I stroked once. Then again. Lightly. I wasn’t even thinking about it. I just needed the pressure.
Casper saw.
He didn’t stop me.
His cock was heavier than I expected. Warm and smooth, thick enough to stretch my lips in a way that made my jaw tense almost immediately. I shifted my angle, trying to find the right position, not just for comfort, but to do it right. Whatever right meant.
I’d never done this before. Not for anyone.
But my mouth moved like it had been waiting.
I flattened my tongue, let him slide deeper, then pulled back to suck gently at the head. I couldn’t get over the taste of his skin, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before and it hit the back of my throat in a way that made my stomach flutter. My lips felt stretched already, my tongue working in ways I hadn’t practiced, hadn’t even imagined clearly until now.
But it was his cock.
Casper.
The man I’d been staring at for weeks. The one who touched my body like it belonged to him, who never smiled unless he meant it. And now I had him in my mouth. My lips wrapped around the thing I’d been dying to see, to taste, to please.
The thought alone sent heat rippling down my chest.
I adjusted again, cheeks hollowing. My tongue flicked lightly along the underside of his shaft, and I swore I felt his fingers tense slightly at the back of my head — just for a second. Then relaxed. Like he was letting me do it. Like he wanted to see what I’d do on my own.
I bobbed my head a little more confidently. Not fast. Just enough to create a rhythm. I could feel the saliva building at the corners of my mouth, trailing a little as I sank deeper. My hand came up, reflexively wrapping around the base where my mouth couldn’t reach. I stroked in time with the rhythm, matching the pace.
A small sound escaped my throat — not a gag, just a groan, involuntary and quiet.
I was getting into it.
Too into it, probably.
But I didn’t care.
The weight of him. The way he twitched slightly when I hit the right spot. The subtle grunt he gave when I swallowed just a little deeper. All of it sent electricity sparking straight down to my cock, which was still throbbing between my legs, rock hard, untouched.
I needed relief. Something. Anything.
So I started stroking.
Slow, careful, trying not to break the moment. My hand slicked easily over the head, down the shaft, back again. Just enough to feed the burn. Just enough to keep me from losing it too fast.
But I could already feel it, the way my balls tightened slightly. The heat building behind my navel. My hips twitching forward in shallow, embarrassed little thrusts into nothing.
I moaned softly around his cock, mouth full, head moving faster now as my own pleasure climbed higher.
And then—
Casper’s foot slid forward.
Not hard. Just a light nudge. The top of it pressed against my wrist, firm enough to break the rhythm.
My hand froze.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.
The message was clear: not yet.
He kept his foot there for another second, just enough to make sure I got it. Then he shifted back slightly, his leg relaxing as if it had never moved.
I let go of my cock. My hand fell to my thigh, fingers twitching slightly from the tension. My whole body was buzzing — my jaw sore, my abs tight, my cock pulsing like it didn’t understand why it was being denied.
Casper’s fingers brushed through my hair, light and slow, a stark contrast to the pressure building in my chest.
“Focus,” he murmured.
It wasn’t cruel. Just efficient. Like everything with him.
I adjusted again and kept sucking.
Harder this time.
If I couldn’t cum, I’d make sure he did.
Casper’s hand settled more firmly on the back of my head now. Still not forcing, but guiding. His hips began to roll just slightly: deeper, slower. I let him lead.
My mouth adjusted to the rhythm, swallowing as much of him as I could. My throat burned, but I didn’t stop. I could feel the tension in his thighs, the flex and release, the subtle shift in his breathing. Every now and then, he made a small sound — not a moan exactly, more like a grunt of approval — and each one sent another jolt straight to my core.
My cock ached. The skin tight, the tip wet, painfully swollen. My hand hovered near it like a reflex, but I didn’t touch. Not yet.
Not without his word.
Casper’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened in my hair.
I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder, desperate now. I wanted to feel it. Needed to. I could tell he was close, his hips twitching, muscles drawn tight, thighs tensing with every pulse of pressure in my mouth.
Then—
He groaned low in his chest and came.
It hit the back of my throat in hot bursts. Bitter. Tangy. Sharp. I tried to take it, tried to keep swallowing, even as some of it slipped past my lips. My eyes watered, not from emotion but from effort, and I didn’t stop moving until he pulled back, cock slick and half-soft now, twitching slightly in the air between us.
I knelt there, panting through my nose, mouth still open, saliva glistening on my chin.
My cock throbbed like it was ready to launch for take off.
Casper looked down at me. Silent. Assessing. His chest rose and fell, the only sign that any of it had touched him at all.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t move.
I just waited.
He watched me — naked, hard, trembling on my knees — then finally gave a single nod.
“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”
That was all it took.
I gave myself maybe ten or twelve fast strokes.
And then I came.
Hard. Violent. My whole body buckled forward as the orgasm ripped through me. It hit my chest, my hand, the mat. I gasped, biting back a sound as it kept coming, more than I thought I had in me, spilling in thick, wet ropes across the floor and my stomach.
Casper gave a satisfied chuckle as my cum spewed forth like a geyser.
It was the most intense release I’d ever felt. And I didn’t even know why.
Maybe it was the wait.
Maybe it was being watched.
Maybe it was just him.
Casper didn’t give me long.
As soon as the last pulse left my body, he tossed a towel toward the mat. It landed in front of me with a soft thump.
“Clean it up,” he said, already turning away.
I wiped myself down — hands, chest, the slick streaks cooling fast on my skin and the mats too. My breath was still shaky, my legs a little useless beneath me, but I didn’t ask for a break. I just pressed the towel into the mess on the mat and bundled it quickly into the corner.
Casper was already at the rings.
“Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s see if you can focus on your training now.”
I blinked. “What?”
He didn’t answer. Just adjusted the straps and waited.
I pulled my clothes back on with hands that didn’t quite feel like mine. My underwear stuck uncomfortably to my skin. I didn’t even try to fix it.
By the time I joined him at the rings, he was already explaining the drill. Shoulders relaxed. Voice calm. Like nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t just swallowed his cum and exploded on the floor seconds later.
He didn’t touch me much after that. Corrected my swing technique once. Watched me fumble with grip a few times. Said “better” when I finally got it right.
And that was it.
Business as usual.
By the time we wrapped, my arms were shaking and my chest burned. But none of that matched the twist inside my stomach — the part of me still chasing meaning.
Casper packed up his gear. I stood by the wall, holding my water bottle like I was caught in a trance.
He gave me a short nod as he passed. “Wednesday. Same time.”
And then he was gone.
No comment. No smirk. No trace of what had just happened.
I sat on the edge of the mat for a long time after. Still sweating. Still hard to breathe.
He hadn’t kissed me. Not once.
Not even a look.
Not like with her.
That girl — the blonde with the perfect body and nightclub makeup — he’d touched her like he wanted her. Like she was a person. Someone he chose.
Me? I didn’t even know if I was a warm-up. A tool. A fucking receptacle.
But he let me suck his cock.
He let me come.
And now I couldn’t stop replaying all of it. The taste. The way he looked down at me. That wordless not yet from his foot.
This would definitely feed fap fantasies for weeks, months, maybe years to come.
And somewhere underneath it all, the question kept looping like static in the back of my head:
What am I to him?
__________________________________
Thank you so much for reading my story; I hope you've enjoyed! If you'd like to read ahead in this story, access extra content like images and bonus chapters or read my other stories you can do so here
I'll be sharing a new story from my site with you all starting this week after I've posted the next chapter of The Acquisition. If I did everything right, a teaser video should be below.
![VID_20250714_000206_173.mp4]( "VID_20250714_000206_173.mp4")
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
“On your knees.”
My stomach flipped. I looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. Not playful. Not angry. Just matter-of-fact.
I swallowed and shifted, my knees pressing down into the soft vinyl.
Casper stepped closer. Unfastened his waistband. His cock was already half-hard.
He didn’t speak at first. Just looked down at me, then tilted his head slightly, like something wasn’t right.
“Take everything off,” he said.
My throat tightened.
“All of it,” he added, like it was obvious.
I hesitated, just long enough to feel the heat crawl up my chest. Then I stood. My hands went to my waistband.
Casper didn’t look away. He just watched.
First the compression shorts. Then the shirt. Socks. Everything in a small pile at the edge of the mat. I knelt again, bare this time, my skin already prickling from the air and his eyes.
My dick was hard — of course it was — pulsing now that nothing covered it. I tried to shift without being obvious, but I saw the flicker of a smirk at the edge of his mouth when it twitched against my thigh.
He didn’t comment.
Didn’t touch me.
Just stepped forward and guided his cock to my mouth.
It was heavy on my tongue, already thickening as I wrapped my lips around it. I adjusted my angle, flattening my tongue to take him deeper. He tasted clean, like skin and sweat and something unmistakably man.
His hand rested at the back of my head. Not pressing. Just there.
I started to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, letting the rhythm settle in. My own cock bobbed slightly as I worked, untouched but stiff, aching with every movement of my jaw.
Casper didn’t speak much. Just the occasional murmur.
“Slower.”
“Use your tongue there.”
“Good. Just like that.”
I could hear his breath shifting. Not panting. Just heavier. He jerked his hips forward once — not rough, just enough to make me choke a little — then steadied again.
My hand drifted to my cock. I stroked once. Then again. Lightly. I wasn’t even thinking about it. I just needed the pressure.
Casper saw.
He didn’t stop me.
His cock was heavier than I expected. Warm and smooth, thick enough to stretch my lips in a way that made my jaw tense almost immediately. I shifted my angle, trying to find the right position, not just for comfort, but to do it right. Whatever right meant.
I’d never done this before. Not for anyone.
But my mouth moved like it had been waiting.
I flattened my tongue, let him slide deeper, then pulled back to suck gently at the head. I couldn’t get over the taste of his skin, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before and it hit the back of my throat in a way that made my stomach flutter. My lips felt stretched already, my tongue working in ways I hadn’t practiced, hadn’t even imagined clearly until now.
But it was his cock.
Casper.
The man I’d been staring at for weeks. The one who touched my body like it belonged to him, who never smiled unless he meant it. And now I had him in my mouth. My lips wrapped around the thing I’d been dying to see, to taste, to please.
The thought alone sent heat rippling down my chest.
I adjusted again, cheeks hollowing. My tongue flicked lightly along the underside of his shaft, and I swore I felt his fingers tense slightly at the back of my head — just for a second. Then relaxed. Like he was letting me do it. Like he wanted to see what I’d do on my own.
I bobbed my head a little more confidently. Not fast. Just enough to create a rhythm. I could feel the saliva building at the corners of my mouth, trailing a little as I sank deeper. My hand came up, reflexively wrapping around the base where my mouth couldn’t reach. I stroked in time with the rhythm, matching the pace.
A small sound escaped my throat — not a gag, just a groan, involuntary and quiet.
I was getting into it.
Too into it, probably.
But I didn’t care.
The weight of him. The way he twitched slightly when I hit the right spot. The subtle grunt he gave when I swallowed just a little deeper. All of it sent electricity sparking straight down to my cock, which was still throbbing between my legs, rock hard, untouched.
I needed relief. Something. Anything.
So I started stroking.
Slow, careful, trying not to break the moment. My hand slicked easily over the head, down the shaft, back again. Just enough to feed the burn. Just enough to keep me from losing it too fast.
But I could already feel it, the way my balls tightened slightly. The heat building behind my navel. My hips twitching forward in shallow, embarrassed little thrusts into nothing.
I moaned softly around his cock, mouth full, head moving faster now as my own pleasure climbed higher.
And then—
Casper’s foot slid forward.
Not hard. Just a light nudge. The top of it pressed against my wrist, firm enough to break the rhythm.
My hand froze.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.
The message was clear: not yet.
He kept his foot there for another second, just enough to make sure I got it. Then he shifted back slightly, his leg relaxing as if it had never moved.
I let go of my cock. My hand fell to my thigh, fingers twitching slightly from the tension. My whole body was buzzing — my jaw sore, my abs tight, my cock pulsing like it didn’t understand why it was being denied.
Casper’s fingers brushed through my hair, light and slow, a stark contrast to the pressure building in my chest.
“Focus,” he murmured.
It wasn’t cruel. Just efficient. Like everything with him.
I adjusted again and kept sucking.
Harder this time.
If I couldn’t cum, I’d make sure he did.
Casper’s hand settled more firmly on the back of my head now. Still not forcing, but guiding. His hips began to roll just slightly: deeper, slower. I let him lead.
My mouth adjusted to the rhythm, swallowing as much of him as I could. My throat burned, but I didn’t stop. I could feel the tension in his thighs, the flex and release, the subtle shift in his breathing. Every now and then, he made a small sound — not a moan exactly, more like a grunt of approval — and each one sent another jolt straight to my core.
My cock ached. The skin tight, the tip wet, painfully swollen. My hand hovered near it like a reflex, but I didn’t touch. Not yet.
Not without his word.
Casper’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened in my hair.
I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder, desperate now. I wanted to feel it. Needed to. I could tell he was close, his hips twitching, muscles drawn tight, thighs tensing with every pulse of pressure in my mouth.
Then—
He groaned low in his chest and came.
It hit the back of my throat in hot bursts. Bitter. Tangy. Sharp. I tried to take it, tried to keep swallowing, even as some of it slipped past my lips. My eyes watered, not from emotion but from effort, and I didn’t stop moving until he pulled back, cock slick and half-soft now, twitching slightly in the air between us.
I knelt there, panting through my nose, mouth still open, saliva glistening on my chin.
My cock throbbed like it was ready to launch for take off.
Casper looked down at me. Silent. Assessing. His chest rose and fell, the only sign that any of it had touched him at all.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t move.
I just waited.
He watched me — naked, hard, trembling on my knees — then finally gave a single nod.
“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”
That was all it took.
I gave myself maybe ten or twelve fast strokes.
And then I came.
Hard. Violent. My whole body buckled forward as the orgasm ripped through me. It hit my chest, my hand, the mat. I gasped, biting back a sound as it kept coming, more than I thought I had in me, spilling in thick, wet ropes across the floor and my stomach.
Casper gave a satisfied chuckle as my cum spewed forth like a geyser.
It was the most intense release I’d ever felt. And I didn’t even know why.
Maybe it was the wait.
Maybe it was being watched.
Maybe it was just him.
Casper didn’t give me long.
As soon as the last pulse left my body, he tossed a towel toward the mat. It landed in front of me with a soft thump.
“Clean it up,” he said, already turning away.
I wiped myself down — hands, chest, the slick streaks cooling fast on my skin and the mats too. My breath was still shaky, my legs a little useless beneath me, but I didn’t ask for a break. I just pressed the towel into the mess on the mat and bundled it quickly into the corner.
Casper was already at the rings.
“Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s see if you can focus on your training now.”
I blinked. “What?”
He didn’t answer. Just adjusted the straps and waited.
I pulled my clothes back on with hands that didn’t quite feel like mine. My underwear stuck uncomfortably to my skin. I didn’t even try to fix it.
By the time I joined him at the rings, he was already explaining the drill. Shoulders relaxed. Voice calm. Like nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t just swallowed his cum and exploded on the floor seconds later.
He didn’t touch me much after that. Corrected my swing technique once. Watched me fumble with grip a few times. Said “better” when I finally got it right.
And that was it.
Business as usual.
By the time we wrapped, my arms were shaking and my chest burned. But none of that matched the twist inside my stomach — the part of me still chasing meaning.
Casper packed up his gear. I stood by the wall, holding my water bottle like I was caught in a trance.
He gave me a short nod as he passed. “Wednesday. Same time.”
And then he was gone.
No comment. No smirk. No trace of what had just happened.
I sat on the edge of the mat for a long time after. Still sweating. Still hard to breathe.
He hadn’t kissed me. Not once.
Not even a look.
Not like with her.
That girl — the blonde with the perfect body and nightclub makeup — he’d touched her like he wanted her. Like she was a person. Someone he chose.
Me? I didn’t even know if I was a warm-up. A tool. A fucking receptacle.
But he let me suck his cock.
He let me come.
And now I couldn’t stop replaying all of it. The taste. The way he looked down at me. That wordless not yet from his foot.
This would definitely feed fap fantasies for weeks, months, maybe years to come.
And somewhere underneath it all, the question kept looping like static in the back of my head:
What am I to him?
__________________________________
Thank you so much for reading my story; I hope you've enjoyed! If you'd like to read ahead in this story, access extra content like images and bonus chapters or read my other stories you can do so here
I'll be sharing a new story from my site with you all starting this week after I've posted the next chapter of The Acquisition. If I did everything right, a teaser video should be below.
Love this story! Can’t wait for more!
Already started reading the new story on your site. It’s gooooood!! Fantastic writing!
Similar threads
