By: Ryan Michaels
.jpg)
The gym was dead when I walked in. Only a couple of
guys were scattered across the floor, which was to be expected given the hour;
it was a 24-hour place, and the clock was ticking past 11:30 PM. I headed into
the locker room, changed into my gear, and hit the weights.
Eventually, the crowd thinned out entirely until it
was just one other guy and me. After striking up a casual conversation between
sets, we eventually teamed up to spot each other. He decided to head off to the
showers before I was quite finished, but I wrapped up my final sets shortly
after and headed to the locker room as well.
After stripping out of my gear, I grabbed my towel and
made my way toward the showers. Since we were the only two left in the
building, we had the locker room entirely to ourselves. I suppose that’s why he
didn’t seem too bothered by the fact that, even with his back to me, his arm
was moving in an unmistakable motion. He was stroking his cock, jacking off
right there in the gym showers.
I quietly chuckled, a sudden wave of arousal hitting
me. I’ve always really enjoyed masturbating. I'm what is generally referred to
as a "bator"—I even have the t-shirt to prove it. What I love even
more than solo sessions is bating with other guys. Whether they’re dedicated
bators themselves or just looking to drain their nuts, it doesn't matter to me;
as long as I get to watch and share the moment, I'm good.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity. Even if he
wasn't a bator, he was pleasuring himself in a public shower, and there was a
good chance that if I let him know it was cool, we could turn it into a mutual
session.
Hearing my footsteps approach, he glanced over his
shoulder, his hand instantly falling to his side. As I stepped up to the
showerhead next to him, I chuckled again.
"Hey, you don't have to stop on my account,"
I said with a laugh as I turned on the shower. "There's nothing better
after a good workout than working out your cock, too."
He didn't look at me. He was obviously feeling a
little uncomfortable, having been caught jerking off in the locker room showers.
With a guy like him—a typical, hyper-masculine alpha male—being seen stroking
by another guy can make them feel defensive, like they're being judged.
Recognizing the opening, I spoke up again. "Would
it make you more comfortable if I did it, too? Because I could definitely use
that kind of workout right about now."
My pulse quickened as I watched him process the offer.
His cock, which had subsided slightly, hardened right back up to rock-solid as
he weighed the idea. It was a beautiful dick—uncut, about seven and a half
inches, thick and heavy. It was exactly the kind of cock I loved to suck. But
in that moment, I was focused on bating. Besides, from our conversation during
our workout, I knew he was straight and married, so a blowjob seemed out of the
question.
"It's cool, man," I reassured him.
"There's nothing wrong with a couple of guys jacking off together. Lots of
guys do it. If you're worried that it's gay or something, trust me, it's not.
Do you know how many guys stroke together these days?"
"Well..." he started quietly, his voice gradually finding its footing. "I... I was hoping to finish before you got in here. But too late for that, I guess. So… why the fuck not?"
He turned to look at me, and his eyes immediately
dropped to my dick. My own penis was fully erect in anticipation, standing out
proudly from looking at his impressive cock.
His eyes paused on me for a moment, and then he let
out a loud laugh. "Fuck, I had you all wrong. I thought you were like
me—an alpha, a real man."
I chuckled, a bit caught off guard. "I am a man.
What do you mean?"
He laughed louder. "Yeah, right. Men have dicks
between their legs. That looks like a swollen clit." He paused, looking me
up and down with sudden authority. "I know exactly what you are with a
clit-dick like that."
"And just what do you think I am?" I asked.
I knew where this was going. Most guys make the same assumption when they see
my size.
"I think, why should I stand here and stroke my
own cock when you can suck it for me?" he said. "Because you're
obviously a cocksucker with a tiny little clit-dick like that," he
finished, pointing between my legs.
I opened my mouth to agree, ready to tell him he was
absolutely right and that I’d be happy to take care of him. But before I could
speak, his hand shot out, grabbing the back of my neck. He pulled me forward
and down, turning his hips so I was brought face-to-face with his rock-hard
cock.
It didn't matter if he was right or wrong; he saw an
opportunity, and he was taking it. I loved a dominant guy—especially a dominant
straight guy who knew exactly how to put me in my place, which was on my knees
in front of him.
Before I could even take him into my mouth, he
growled, "Fuck, come on. Put your mouth on it and suck that fucking cock.
That's what you're here for, isn't it?"
I laughed weakly, looking up. "Actually, I was
here to work out, but it looks like I'm going to be working out another
way."
"No!" he snapped. "I mean that's why
you're on this earth. If God wanted you to fuck women, or get blowjobs, he
would have given you a real cock, not that little thing. You're exactly where
you belong, aren't you? Down on your knees. It's where you like to be. You're a
cocksucker, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," I breathed. "But how did
you know? How were you so sure?" I asked, wanting to hear him say it
again.
He laughed. "Because any guy with a tiny little
clit-dick like that has to be a cocksucker. You can't fuck with that thing, can
you?"
I shook my head.
"Exactly," he sneered. "You think
anybody wants to suck that? No. So what else are you good for? You don't
have a real dick, so you've just got holes. It was obvious you were a
cocksucker."
"You're right," I said, looking up at him.
"I am."
"I know. I just told you that," he said, his
smirk widening. "My only question now is why the fuck are you kneeling
there talking to me instead of sucking it?"
"I'm sorry. I'll start right now," I
murmured.
My words were cut off as his hand tightened on the
back of my head, guiding me forward. The rest of my apology was lost as his
thick dick slid past my lips.
He fell silent, keeping his hand on my head. He wasn't
forcing me violently, but his hand moved in tandem with the rhythm of my
throat. His eyes drifted shut, his head tilting back as he let go of the
tension, enjoying the sensation of a mouth replacing his hand.
I bobbed up and down, taking in as much of his length
as I could. I kept up the pace, eager to please him and
focusing entirely on his pleasure.
Eventually, his grip grew firmer, his palm pressing
down to push me faster and deeper. He began directing my movements, forcing me
down to the root, holding me there for a few seconds before letting me slide
back up, dictating exactly how he wanted it.
Suddenly, his hand locked in place, holding my head
down on his cock. I struggled slightly—not to get away, but
because I wanted to taste his cum on my tongue rather than have it shot
straight down my throat. But he didn't let go. He let out a low, heavy grunt,
followed by another, as hot jets of cum fired deep into my throat.
After the final pulse, he let out a quiet, relaxed
sigh. His grip on my head loosened, and his hand fell away.
I stood up, wiping my mouth, as he turned back to the
shower stream to rinse off. I looked at him and smiled. "How was it? Did
you enjoy that?"
He didn't answer.
"I'm glad I could do that for you," I
continued. "Anytime you see me at the gym, if you want me to do that
again, I will. You don't even have to say anything. If there's no one around,
just turn around, grab me by the neck, and put it in my mouth. You know I'll
gladly suck it."
He reached over, shut the shower faucet off, and
finally looked at me.
"Fuck you," he said flatly, grabbing his
towel. "I got what I needed. It's not happening again. Honestly, for a fucking
cocksucker, you weren't even that good."
Without another word, he threw the towel over his
shoulder and walked out.
I didn’t take his parting shot to heart. In fact, a
slow smirk spread across my face as I watched him walk out of the showers. I
knew exactly what that was: classic post-nut clarity colliding head-on with a
heavy dose of straight, married-guy guilt. The second the pleasure faded, the
reality of what he’d just done set in, and he had to lash out to salvage his
ego. He needed to insult me to convince himself he was still the untouchable
alpha, rather than a married man who had eagerly let another guy blow him.
But I knew the truth. The desperate grip of his hand
on my head, his heavy grunts, and the sheer force of his climax told a
completely different story. I was damn good, and we both knew it. Let him keep
his pride; I had gotten exactly what I wanted.
I stepped back under the warm spray of my own shower, letting
the hot water wash over my shoulders. I lathered up slowly before placing my
thumb and forefinger on my erect, soapy penis. With the mental image of my lips
stretched around his big, uncut cock burned into my mind, it only took a few
quick, feverish tugs before I experienced the pulsing relief of ejaculation.
After drying off, I pulled on my street clothes,
packed up my gear, and walked out past the unattended front desk.
Stepping out into the cool night air of the parking
lot, I saw his truck pulling away. I smiled to myself, throwing my gym bag into
the passenger seat of my car. He could pretend all he wanted, and he could tell
himself it was a one-time mistake. But the gym was open 24 hours, we both
worked out at the same time, and guilt has a funny way of wearing off the next
time a man gets horny.
No comments:
Post a Comment