Three Blonds?
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The hotel room was empty when I got back. Beds done up, curtains halfway shut, bathroom light still on. My bag leaned against the chair where I’d dumped it earlier. For a second I stood there with my hand still on the knob, waiting to hear water running or footsteps. Nothing. Just the hum of the air vent.
I let the door click closed and dropped onto the mattress. My legs weren’t done buzzing from the mats, every muscle saying the weekend had been heavier than any practice. Throat still a little scraped, chest tired, shoulders sore in a way that doesn’t go away after a few minutes of rest.
Scenes from the last two days kept flashing through. Taylor in the crowd, nodding atm e. Him clapping when I stuck my landing. Him not acting weird at all. That part kept looping because it didn’t match what I’d braced for. I thought he’d pull back after what he saw. He didn’t. He was right there beside me, no hesitation.
And then that moment at the door. Him opening it and catching Mason in me. I felt my stomach turn remembering. But the way he handled it. There was a quick glance, no smirk, no dumb comment, just gave us the space and moved on. Later he treated me the same as always, maybe even better. It almost felt like he wanted me to know it wasn’t a big deal to him.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the seam across the ceiling. My mind jumped to the first night again. Casper walking in while Mason was in the middle of pounding me. The way he joined in on the action. Casper in front, Mason behind me, not letting me slip away from it. Both of them using me, together, like it was decided before I even knew what was happening. That mix of pressure and control left something stamped into me. It was sex but also more. A lesson. A breaking-in. I could still hear the sound of both of them exerting themselves as they spent their lust into me.
My chest knotted thinking about tonight. Would it be Mason alone? Both of them again? Someone else? Taylor—no. I shook that thought off fast. I didn’t know what Taylor wanted, or who he wanted. All I knew was he saw me, he saw what Mason did to me. He wasn’t Mason. He wasn’t going to try and take advantage of that. At least I didn’t think so.
I pressed my face into the pillow. The fabric smelled faintly of detergent and old air. I wanted sleep but couldn’t settle. My body wouldn’t quiet down. My legs twitched, my stomach pulled tight, my cock half hard without me touching it. Like my body had picked up a rhythm from the weekend and refused to drop it.
I checked my phone. No new messages. Mason would come whenever he felt like it. He always did. I closed my eyes and tried to let the quiet carry me for a bit, knowing tonight was going to be whatever he decided it would be.
About half an hour later the handle turned and Mason came in. He still looked wired, shoulders loose, a grin stuck on his face. He dropped his bag by the door and muttered something under his breath, still buzzing from the day.
“You hiding out already?” he said.
I pushed myself higher against the headboard. “Just needed quiet.”
He pulled his shirt off as he crossed the room and tossed it on the chair. His skin was damp in spots, faint smell of soap clinging under the sweat. Without another word he went to the adjoining doors, slid the lock across, checked it with his hand, then turned back toward me.
“Don’t want an encore,” he said.
My throat tightened. “Yeah.”
Mason stretched his arms overhead, then dropped onto his bed. The frame groaned. He lay on his back a minute, staring at the ceiling. “You’ve been wound up since Taylor walked in on us.”
I picked at the blanket. “Kind of hard not to think about.”
He rolled to his side, resting on an elbow. “Don’t make it bigger than it is. He’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. He’s gay and he’s super chill. Why would he care?”
I shrugged.
“He’s solid. If you need to talk to him, you can. He won’t screw with you over it.”
The way Mason said it left no room for doubt. The knot in my gut loosened a little.
“I just—”
“You don’t want to be treated different,” Mason said. “You won’t be. Taylor’s cool. You killed it today. That’s what he’s looking at.”
I nodded. The morning still flashed in my head, but Mason’s certainty took some of the weight off. He rolled onto his back again, hands behind his head.
“You stress too much,” he said. “If something’s off, talk to him. Otherwise, let it go.”
I glanced at the locked door. The sound of the bolt sliding still sat with me. Mason had done it quick, without hesitation, like it was obvious. My chest felt warmer from that than from anything he’d said.
He let out a long breath. “I’m beat. Could use something before I knock out.”
His tone had shifted. Not a request. My stomach pulled tight. I knew what was coming.
Mason leaned back against the headboard, spreading his legs.
“Blow me,” came the command.
That was all it took. I was already sliding off my bed, down to the carpet, knees pressing into the hard floor between his thighs. The air in the room felt different now, heavier, like we’d crossed a line without needing to spell it out.
I tugged his shorts down to his thighs. His cock slapped against his stomach, already stiff. My mouth watered just looking at it.
“Just suck me tonight,” he said. “I don’t have the energy to fuck you after today.”
I bent forward, lips parting, tongue dragging up the underside before I pushed my mouth down on the head. The stretch was instant. My throat worked around him as I tried to take more. Mason grunted, low in his chest, and set his hand against the back of my head. Not hard yet, just there, waiting.
I started to work a rhythm, sucking him down, pulling back, spit already coating my lips. Mason didn’t move much, just sat there watching, breathing heavier. Then his hand pressed harder, forcing me deeper. My gag reflex hit. Eyes watered. He held me there until I jerked, then let me slide back a little before shoving me down again.
The taste of him filled my mouth: distinctive, manly, alive. I swallowed around him, coughed, tried again. My jaw burned already but I didn’t stop. His cock pulsed against my tongue, veins rigid, wet with my drool.
“Balls,” he muttered.
I pulled off with a gasp and dropped lower, sucking one into my mouth, then the other, rolling them heavy against my tongue. They smelled musky, stronger than his cock, sweat still clinging from the day. My nose pressed against his thigh, the hair damp against my cheek. Mason grunted again, tugged my hair once, then pushed me further down.
“Ass.”
I hesitated half a breath, then shoved his legs wider and buried my face between them. His hole was tight, dark, the taste earthy and rich against my tongue. I licked long and slow at first, then harder, pushing the tip of my tongue inside. Mason shifted, grinding back into me, a low groan shaking out of him. My jaw ached from the angle but I didn’t stop until he yanked me up by the hair.
“Back on it.”
I obeyed. Mouth wide, swallowing him down again. He didn’t give me time to settle this time. He planted his feet, thrust up into me, his cock ramming the back of my throat. I gagged loud, saliva flying out the corner of my lips, but he didn’t ease up. His grip in my hair was iron. He used my mouth the way he wanted, dragging me down onto him again and again until my throat started to feel raw.
Tears blurred my eyes. I choked and coughed, came up gasping. Mason gave me half a second, then shoved me back down. The room filled with the sound of it: wet slurps, my gagging, his short grunts. Spit dripped off my chin, soaking into my shirt. My knees hurt against the carpet but I didn’t care.
“Good boy,” he said once, barely above a whisper, and my I lit up.
I doubled down, sucking harder, hollowing my cheeks, trying to give him everything. Mason started moving rougher, hips lifting, fucking my face like I was nothing but a hole to him. My throat convulsed, my nose mashed into his skin. I could smell the sweat in his pubes every time his abs crashed into my face. Over the last little while that scent had become intoxicating to me. Every time I thought I’d break, he pulled me back just enough to suck air, then shoved me down again.
He slapped my cheek with his cock once, slobber and precum streaking across my face, then shoved back in. His balls hit my chin as he fucked into me. My jaw screamed but I didn’t let go.
“I’m gonna nut in you now, Roomie,” he growled.
He rammed deep, held me down. His cock swelled and then hot cum shot straight into my throat. I gagged, swallowing fast, choking on it, but I didn’t pull away. More came, thick and bitter, running out the corner of my mouth. I gulped, coughed, swallowed again until I’d taken it all.
When he let go, I slumped back, gasping, wiping my chin with the back of my hand. My shirt was soaked. My throat felt raw, lips swollen. My knees throbbed from the carpet burn and the strain of the position.
Mason leaned back, chest heaving. After a long silence he reached down, his palm heavy on the back of my head. “Glad we ended up as roommates,” he said. “You’re a very good boy.” I looked into his eyes for some hint of his usual humour but what I saw reflected back was entirely genuine. Mason meant what he had said.
I swallowed, throat sore, but the words filled me more than the cum had. My chest swelled with pride. I crawled back to my bed, collapsing onto it. Every part of me ached, but I felt right. Used, emptied out, but good. I’d given Mason exactly what he wanted, and he’d told me so.
A short while later I was showered and back in bed.
I closed my eyes, the taste of him still on my tongue, my body buzzing. Sleep pulled me under fast, and I didn’t fight it.
The next morning the smell of scrambled eggs and burnt coffee clung to the hotel dining room. I walked in with Mason, still sore all over but carrying this quiet satisfaction from the night before. My throat was raw, my jaw stiff, but I was still contented by the knowledge that my roommate was pleased with me, to have found me.
We filled trays and sat near the end of a table where a couple of the guys were already eating. Mason gorged himself again. I was beginning to question whether the boy had taste buds at all. I picked at eggs and toast, ready to get back to the slightly better fare I was accustomed to back on campus.
Halfway through, Taylor walked over. Even in sweats he looked put-together, hair damp from the shower, tray balanced steady in his hand. He dropped into the empty seat across from me, nodded at Mason, then looked straight at me.
“Sit with me on the bus?” he asked.
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah, sure. Why?”
He gave a small smile, nothing dramatic. “I just want to talk. You probably know what about.”
My fork hovered in the air. “Not really,” I said.
He shook his head, still smiling. “You do.” Then he dug into his food like it was nothing.
My stomach twisted. The words sat there, vague but heavy. I didn’t know if he meant walking in on me and Mason, or something else. But his tone wasn’t cold, wasn’t mocking. It was steady, the same way he’d spoken to me on the mats.
I tried to eat but the food turned heavy in my mouth. I forced the eggs down anyway. The chatter of the other guys around us filled the room. There was talk about routines, slips, highlights from the exhibition. For them it was back to normal. For me it felt like a pause, waiting for whatever Taylor wanted to say later.
Taylor didn’t press. He talked a little about breakfast food, asked Mason if he was sore, then went quiet again. I kept my eyes on my plate, nodding along, but my head was running ahead, trying to guess what was coming.
By the time we finished, Mason pushed his tray aside and stretched like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Bus leaves in fifteen,” came the call from Coach Nelson.
I processed the information, throat dry. Taylor caught my eye across the table, calm as ever. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to blow up in my face. At least that’s what I told myself. Still, the knot in my gut didn’t ease as we cleared our trays and headed for the lobby.
The bus idled out front with its door folding open and shut while the team loaded on. Mason walked beside me, still loose and casual, his bag slung over one shoulder. I figured we’d end up in the same seat, like always. But when Taylor waved me over halfway down the aisle, I hesitated, then slid in next to him.
Mason stopped where we were and raised his eyebrows. “Ditching me already? Cold.” He said it with a grin, loud enough for a couple of the guys nearby to snicker.
“Shut up,” I muttered, trying to smile back.
He shrugged, kept moving, and dropped into the row behind us. I could feel his knee bumping against my seatback every so often, like he wasn’t going to let me forget he was there.
Taylor set his bag on the floor and leaned back, throwing me an easy smile. For the first few minutes he kept it normal, asking about my legs, talking about how the team had looked on the mats. I nodded, gave short answers, still thinking about Mason behind me.
The bus pulled out onto the road, tires humming as we merged onto the highway. The chatter around us thinned out as some of the guys put in headphones or closed their eyes. Taylor turned his head toward me then, his voice lower than before.
“So,” he said, steady, “I was hoping we could talk about what happened yesterday morning…”
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