Hat Trick
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
I pushed through the dorm hallway at dusk on Monday and felt like I’d swallowed a small sun. Everything in me glowed. My skin, my pulse, even the soles of my feet fizzed each time they hit the linoleum. I’d spent half the walk back replaying Casper’s low, satisfied grunt when I finally took him to the root, and the other half fighting a goofy smile that wanted to split my face open.
I must not have fought hard enough, because the second I tapped my keycard and nudged our door open, Mason glanced up from his bed and barked a laugh.
“Well damn, gym rat—someone’s smug.” He tossed his phone aside, propped himself on an elbow, and gave me a once-over that left no doubt he’d clocked every inch of my giddy aura. “What did you bench—world peace?”
“Shut up.” I slid my bag to the floor, hoping the grin would fade if I looked busy. It didn’t. My cheeks ached.
Mason sat up fully, messy blond hair haloed by the lamplight. “Seriously, you’re floating, dude. Good lift? Or”—he cocked an eyebrow—“good something else?”
Blood sprinted to my ears. “It was… fine.”
He smirked. “Fine doesn’t do that to a man’s face. That’s post-nut glow if I’ve ever seen it.” He folded his arms behind his head, pecs flexing just because they could. “Question is, did it happen at the gym or on the way back?”
My throat went dry. I realized I was touching my lips, like there might still be evidence, and yanked my hand away.
Mason’s grin spread. “Oh my God, it was at the gym, wasn’t it?” He sat forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Locker-room quickie with that girl who’s always checking you out? The red head who always has headphones in so no one will talk to her?”
“Dude.” I kicked off my shoes and turned toward my dresser, trying to hide the flush. “Drop it.”
“Not a denial.” He whistled low. “Respect. I’d shake your hand, but I don’t know where it’s been.”
I groaned into my open drawer and grabbed a clean T-shirt. No way did he know. He was just guessing—right? Still, my brain raced: was my hair mussed weird? Did I smell like Casper? Could he tell my throat felt raw from being stretched open—
“Whatever happened,” Mason went on, drawing out the words, “it has you strutting in here like you just aced exams and got a blowjob at the same time.” He laughed at his own line, then paused. “Wait. Was it both?”
I whipped the shirt over my head and faced him. “Can you not?”
He held up his hands, palms out. “Look, I’m only curious because you never talk about hookups, and I’d totally spill deets if you asked me. Bros share, y’know?”
“Congratulations on being an open book.” I tried sounding bored and failed; my voice cracked on the last word.
Mason’s gaze sharpened. “Seriously, Eli, I’d keep it between us. It’s just—nice seeing you happy. You’ve been tense since season started. If someone finally—” He made a vague gesture toward his lap. “—helped you relax, that’s dope.”
I managed a weak laugh. “I’m relaxed, okay? Can we watch the game?”
Mason smirked but let it drop. “Sure, man. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m like, a pro-detective.”
Tuesday crawled.
Morning lecture? Useless. Organic chem notes turned to hieroglyphs the second I tried to read them. My mind replayed Monday in high-definition: kneeling on the rubberized floor of the empty stretching room, Casper’s fingers tangled in my hair, the smell of his sweat…
I shifted in my seat. My cock thickened against denim, and the professor’s voice blurred into static. Outside, leaves rattled against the window like they wanted to get in and hear my dirty thoughts.
Afternoon was worse. Mason trailed me around campus like a friendly hound, peppering me with jokes.
“So…”—he waggled his eyebrows as we left the dining hall—“was it in a sauna? Please tell me you steamed up the mirrors.”
“No.”
“Storage closet?”
“Mason!”
He clicked his tongue. “Damn. Was it at least on a mat? Hygiene matters, bro.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “If I say nothing happened, will you chill?”
He studied my face, unblinking, until I squirmed. “You could, but your smile says otherwise.”
I cursed my traitor mouth. Every time the memory surfaced, my lips curved on their own.
“Fine,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Keep your secrets. But if you end up writing poetry in your notebook, I’m staging an intervention.”
The teasing should’ve grated. Instead, it spiraled me deeper: what if he could tell? What if a stray drop of Casper’s cum had dried on my cheek and I’d walked through campus with it? My body flashed hot. I ducked from under Mason’s arm and muttered something about study group.
He laughed behind me. “Run, virgin, run!”
Tuesday night I lay awake, staring at the ceiling skylight of our cramped dorm. Mason’s gentle snores filtered through the dark, each one a reminder I was two feet from a guy who’d hounded me all day for sex details.
Would he still joke if he knew the truth: how I’d knelt on speckled flooring under harsh fluorescent lights, the air reeking of disinfectant and sweat? How I’d gagged, eyes watering, and felt more alive than ever? How Casper had finished with a low groan, thumb brushing my jaw as if marking me?
A shiver rippled through me. My cock throbbed under the sheet. I pressed a palm over it, not stroking, just feeling the weight, proof that it happened.
Casper had said: Come back Wednesday, 5:30 a.m. sharp. We’ll pick up where we left off.
One day gap. Twenty-four hours of nerves, replay, and ache.
I squeezed harder, breath shallow, but didn’t allow release. Saving it felt like honoring the promise, like arriving hungry would please him.
I blinked at the clock on my phone: 5:22 a.m. The gym was half-dark, only the safety lights over the rings giving off a faint blue glow.
Casper was already on the spring floor, stretching in that black singlet that clung to every cut line of his torso. Chalk dust floated around his calves. When he heard my footsteps, he rose and tugged the straps tighter across his shoulders.
“Morning,” I said, breath catching slightly as I dropped my bag.
“Morning.” He stood and rolled out his shoulders. “We’ll be working through inverted ring holds today, with spotters if we can grab someone by seven. But before we get to that, we need to deal with the tension you’re always carrying.”
I paused. “Tension?”
Casper crossed the floor toward me, easy and deliberate. “You carry it in your body, your jaw, your hips. You fight every movement until I break it out of you. Last time, your performance only improved after we had our little session. Remember?”
I swallowed. “Yes, Coach.”
“Good. Then you know how we’re going to start.” He nodded at me. “Strip.”
The gym was silent except for the distant hiss of the ventilation system. I hesitated only a moment, then pulled off my hoodie, peeled down my sweats, and stepped out of them. My singlet was tented embarrassingly already. I slid it down, heat rushing to my cheeks.
Casper watched calmly, like he was evaluating my posture. “Hands behind your back.”
I clasped them. My cock stood stiff in the cold air. Casper circled me once, slow and clinical, before stepping in front and reaching for his own waistband. He tugged the singlet down to mid-thigh and let his cock fall free. Thick, flushed, already half-hard.
“This is for your athletic performance,” he said, voice level. “You want to be loose on the rings.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Then on your knees.”
I dropped to the mat. The rubber texture scraped my knees. His cock hung inches from my face, and the scent hit me: clean sweat, something darker underneath. He palmed the back of my head gently.
“Start with my balls,” he said. “I want them wet.”
I leaned forward, tongue trembling, and licked slow along the underside of one orb, then the other. Casper let out a quiet exhale. I circled my tongue again, then sucked one lightly into my mouth, cheeks hollowing.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Get every inch.”
I dragged my tongue further back, following the curve behind his sac. The taste deepened, manly and primal. My cock throbbed, untouched. I kept my hands locked behind my back. I could already feel myself shaking.
I dragged my tongue further back, chasing the heat where his sac met the base of his body. The smell changed there, stronger and more private. My nose pressed gently into him as I pushed my tongue lower, and I felt his thighs flex on either side of my face.
Casper’s fingers tightened slightly in my hair. Not to guide me. Just to remind me whose hands I was in.
“Don’t rush,” he said quietly. “Make it count.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I took a slow breath, then tilted my chin and let the tip of my tongue find the crease just beneath his balls. He tasted like sweat and skin and sex. I dragged upward, just enough pressure to feel the slight resistance of stubble, then down again, tracing the same path. His cock gave a twitch against my cheek.
I stayed there for a while, licking softly, making a slow circuit from one ball to the other, letting my breath fan over damp skin between passes. My jaw was starting to ache, but I didn’t stop. Every time my tongue passed over the center seam of his sac, he made a quiet, approving sound, low in his chest, barely audible, but unmistakably real.
I could feel how hard I was. My cock pulsed with each movement, begging for contact, but I didn’t dare disobey. I kept my wrists locked behind me like he’d ordered.
Then I shifted lower.
Casper adjusted his stance a fraction, widening his feet. It was all the invitation I needed. I angled my head underneath him, breath catching in my throat as I stared up at the shadowed cleft between his cheeks.
“Go on,” he said.
I leaned forward and licked once, tentative, flat-tongued, over the puckered skin. He didn’t move. Just let out a low hum like I’d scratched an itch he’d been ignoring.
I did it again. Slower. Pressing a little more. The muscle there was taut, resisting at first, but not pushing me away. I circled it with my tongue, then gave a gentle lap from base to tip, tasting the sweat caught there. My face flushed hot. I was breathless. Shaking.
Casper’s hand slid down the back of my neck, palm heavy.
“That’s good,” he murmured. “Really good. Keep going.”
I buried my face deeper, licking in firmer strokes now, feeling the way his body responded—tense, then loose, then tense again. Each sound he made sent a shiver down my spine, and my cock dribbled against my thigh. I wanted to hump the air. I wanted to rub against the floor like an animal. But I didn’t move.
My only job was him. My mouth. His pleasure.
And the deeper I went, the more I lost myself to his pleasure.
Casper shifted his hips slightly, widening his stance just enough for me to press in closer. The backs of my shoulders brushed his thighs. My tongue moved in slower circles now, each pass more confident, more deliberate. I could feel the muscle twitch beneath me, could hear the soft catch in his breath each time I teased over the center.
He didn’t say anything for a while. Just stood there, letting me work, one hand resting on the back of my neck like he was holding a leash he didn’t need to pull.
I closed my eyes and let myself sink into it, into the taste, the texture, the heat coming off his body. I inhaled through my nose and filled my lungs with him. I didn’t care if I smelled like him the rest of the day. I hoped I did.
Every now and then, his cock would brush against my cheek or jaw, smearing a fresh drop of precum. I could feel it, warm and slick, but I didn’t change position. This was what he wanted. This was what made me valuable to him.
When he finally stepped back, I almost whimpered.
Casper reached down, took his cock in one hand, and stroked it once, slow. “Mouth.”
I rose on my knees again, lips parted. He tapped his tip against them, smearing precum across the seam, then slid in with a steady push. I moaned low in my throat as he filled me.
The stretch was familiar now, but still deep enough to sting. I kept my hands locked behind my back like he’d ordered, muscles trembling with restraint. My cock throbbed against my belly, leaking steadily. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe until he gave his first shallow thrust.
“Eyes on me,” he said softly.
I looked up. His face was unreadable, jaw tight, brows furrowed in that focused way he had when counting reps or analyzing a landing. Except this time, he was using my mouth to get off.
He rocked into me slowly, each motion precise. My throat flexed around him, gag reflex flaring and fading as I adjusted. Drool pooled at the corners of my mouth. I let it fall.
His hands never pushed. Just rested. One against the back of my skull, the other cupping my jaw, tilting it slightly so he could watch his cock disappear down my throat. His breathing got heavier, shallower.
“Don’t touch yourself,” he reminded me, voice gravel low.
I moaned around him in response. My thighs shook from the effort of staying still. My cock was a pulsing ache, dripping onto the mat. Every nerve in my body screamed for friction.
But I obeyed. Because he hadn’t told me I could do anything else.
Casper thrust a little deeper now, not hard, just enough to make my eyes water. His cock hit the back of my throat and stayed there for a few seconds, pulsing against the tight seal of my lips. I gagged, just barely, and he eased out again, slow and wet.
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re getting better at this.”
I wanted to thank him. I wanted to rub against him like a dog begging for more. But I kept my mouth filled and my hands pinned where he’d told me, fists clenched behind my back.
He started up again with that same controlled rhythm—deep, shallow, shallow, deep—like he was working through a drill. Focused. Measured. My throat was the apparatus, and he was perfecting his form.
I whimpered around his cock. My abs were already quaking. My dick was a rod of fire against my belly, dripping freely now. The ache was relentless. I didn’t know if it was pain or pleasure anymore. Maybe it was both.
Casper stroked my hair, almost gently. “This is about discipline, Eli. You’re learning how to focus. How to channel. Understand?”
I moaned again, eyes glassy as I nodded on his length. My tongue flattened under him with each pass, coating him in spit. My chin and chest were wet. I didn’t care. I could barely think.
The sound of his breath shifted. It grew sharper, more urgent. He was close.
His hand moved to cup the back of my head again, firmer this time. His hips began to move faster, losing that calm control. Every thrust landed with slick certainty, and the salt of his precum coated my tongue.
“Look at you,” he growled, voice ragged. “Fucking drooling for it.”
My chest trembled with pride and desperation. I held still as he took what he needed. My lips stretched wide. My knees burned against the mat.
And then he groaned. A sound low and guttural, dragged from deep in his gut.
He pulsed in my mouth. Hot jets flooded my throat, one after another. I swallowed automatically, throat tightening around him as he came. He didn’t pull out right away. He held me there, buried to the hilt, his cock twitching as he emptied every drop.
I stayed exactly where I was. Mouth full. Body shaking. My own cock a fury I could barely contain.
Finally, he eased out. A string of spit and cum stretched from my lower lip to his tip. He wiped it with his thumb and smeared it across my cheek. Not cruel. Not even possessive. Just matter-of-fact.
“Now,” he said, his voice steadier again, “let’s see how those rings look.”
Casper tucked himself back into his singlet. The same smooth, practiced motion he used when adjusting grips or taping a wrist. He glanced at the rings, then at me, still kneeling, flushed, sticky, my cock rigid and untouched.
I looked up, breath ragged. “Coach… should I…”
I trailed off. I didn’t know how to ask it. Didn’t know how to say, Can I please jerk off now?
Didn’t know if I was allowed to want it.
Casper raised an eyebrow. “Should you what?”
I swallowed. “You know? Jerk myself off.”
His expression didn’t change. “Why would you do that?”
“I just… thought maybe that was part of it.”
Casper gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’t think it was the jerking off that helped you last time. You didn’t perform better because you came. You performed better because you stopped being distracted.”
I sat frozen. My cock throbbed angrily against my thigh, still hard, still leaking. The ache in my balls was almost cruel.
Casper walked past me toward the rings, casual as anything. “Get dressed. Warm up with two static holds and one swing set. Then we’ll work transitions.”
I stood slowly, my legs shaking from kneeling so long. My underwear clung wetly to my cock as I pulled it up, the fabric pressing tight around the shaft. I hissed through my teeth, but Casper didn’t look back. I finished dressing in silence.
Training began immediately.
And somehow he was right.
I was looser. Smoother. My balance was sharper, my rhythm tighter. My core held steady through the holds. My shoulders didn’t flinch during the transitions. My timing clicked into place like it had always been waiting for this moment.
He spotted me without comment, adjusted my form when needed, and pushed me harder than usual. I kept moving because I didn’t want to stop. If I stopped, I’d think too much.
When it was over, sweat dripped down my spine, but the real burn was lower. Inside. Untouched.
Later, walking home in the cold morning light, I kept replaying it. The way he came in my mouth. The way I swallowed it all like it was routine. The way he didn’t even acknowledge my cock, like it wasn’t part of the equation.
My balls still ached.
What was wrong with me? Why had making Casper cum allowed me to work better on the mats? How could licking his ass and sucking his cock make me a better gymnast? I hadn’t even cum.
Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t about cumming. Maybe the part that made me better wasn’t getting off.
Maybe it was serving him.
And maybe that should’ve scared me.
But it didn’t.
I loved every minute of it.
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