Heels over Head
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
….He just flopped onto the bed and started taking off his shirt.
I froze. Hand still wrapped around my dick under the blanket, heart thudding in my chest like I’d been caught stealing.
Mason didn’t look at me right away. He pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion, then stretched out like he owned the room, sweat still glistening on his stomach. He grabbed his water bottle, took a long sip, and groaned like he’d just finished a marathon.
“You good?” he asked, casual.
“Yeah,” I said. “Fine.”
It came out rough. I tried to make it sound normal, but I was pretty sure I failed.
Mason rolled to one side and grabbed his phone. He didn’t seem to think anything was weird. He didn’t even glance my way after that. Maybe he hadn’t seen. Maybe he had and just didn’t care. I had no way to know.
“Casper went full psycho today,” he said. “Legs still feel like Jello.”
I nodded and didn’t say anything. My dick had gone soft, but it still felt heavy under the blanket. The sweat hadn’t dried. The shame hadn’t either.
Mason let out a breath and tossed his phone on the nightstand.
“Practice get you all worked up or something?”
My whole face went hot.
“I guess,” I muttered.
I waited a full minute after he stopped talking, just to be sure he wasn’t looking, then muttered something about needing a shower and peeled myself out of bed.
The blanket stuck to my thighs in one spot. I didn’t look down. Just grabbed my towel, shoved it under my arm, and booked it into the hallway before I could think too hard about anything else.
The shower didn’t help as much as I’d hoped.
The water was hot, the pressure decent, but the embarrassment clung tighter than sweat ever could. I stood under the spray for longer than I needed to, letting it beat down on my face as if that would rinse away the last ten minutes of my life.
God..
Eventually, I lathered up, rinsed off, and towel-dried like a human being who hadn’t just been caught mid-stroke by his gorgeous roommate.
When I got back to the room, Mason was still lying on his bed, one knee up, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
“You alive in there?” he asked without looking up.
“Barely,” I muttered, heading for my dresser. I pulled on a fresh pair of briefs and gym shorts under the towel before dropping it. Didn’t matter. Mason wasn’t looking.
“Dude,” he said after a minute. “You ever talk to that blonde girl from the welcome party? The one with the green top?”
I blinked. “What?”
“You know, the one with the killer jeans and scary eyeliner. She kept asking if we were roommates. Thought we looked like opposites in a hot way.”
I snorted. “Opposites how?”
He shrugged, still looking at his phone. “She said I looked like I’d ruin her GPA and you looked like you’d quietly tutor her back to a 3.0.”
I shook my head. “What does that even mean?”
“I think it meant she wanted us both,” He set the phone down, grinning a little, “at once.” His grin spread further. “Anyway, I got her Snap. We’ve been chatting.”
He stretched lazily, arms over his head, ribs lifting with the motion. “Might hang out this weekend if she doesn’t ghost.”
“Nice,” I said.
“She’s got that whole chill-but-hot vibe. Like Emma Chamberlain and Sabrina Carpenter all in one package.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a selling point?”
“It’s more fun than dating someone who’s predictable,” he said. “Less safe. More stories.”
He looked over at me then — just for a second — and smirked. “You should get out there more, man. It’s college. Somebody out there’s probably into whatever mysterious vibe you’ve got going on.”
I didn’t answer.
I just toweled off my hair and tried not to think too hard about why I didn’t want that kind of attention from anyone like her.
The next week passed in a blur of orientation crap, early morning stretches, and trying not to die in the weight room.
I went to practice. I went to class. I met more of the team, mostly first and second-years who gave off the same exhausted, protein-fueled energy as Mason. Everyone was friendly enough.
Casper barely spoke to me outside of drills.
He’d nod once, sometimes correct my form, but nothing like those first days. No lingering touches. No teasing comments. Just solid, focused coaching.
Part of me was relieved.
The other part of me kept scanning the gym every time I walked in, hoping for something I didn’t know how to name.
I forced myself to get out more. Hit a few of the welcome events, stayed out late once with a group from our floor who dragged me to a glow-stick-infested mixer in the student center basement. It smelled like warm vodka and Axe body spray. I stayed exactly forty minutes before pretending I had an early workout.
I didn’t.
But I didn’t belong there either.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to people.
Or flirt.
Or hook up.
I just didn’t know how to make it happen, the hookup part in particular. It just… hadn’t happened. Ever. Not in high school. Not at summer camp. Not even on one of those awkward park bench dates after pride club meetings.
I’d kissed a guy once at a New Year’s party in eleventh grade. He was a friend of a friend and we were both buzzed off two sips of champagne. It lasted maybe eight seconds and ended with both of us laughing and wiping our mouths like it didn’t count.
It hadn’t.
I’d never had sex. Never even been touched that way.
At first it was just about timing. I was busy. I was closeted. I had track. Then it became a thing, the longer it hadn’t happened, the bigger it felt. Like it was this huge milestone I was supposed to reach but hadn’t. I didn’t feel embarrassed about it. Just… afraid. Like I was stuck watching from the sidelines while everyone else sprinted ahead.
And now there was this new feeling. This slow, tight heat in my stomach that hadn’t gone away since I met Casper. Like something had been lit and was still smoldering under the surface, even when everything seemed normal on top.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
So I kept going to practice. Kept moving. Kept trying to catch up to my own body.
I was halfway to the gym when Mason caught up with me outside the athletic center, hoodie slung low over his head and a smoothie in one hand.
“Yo,” he said, falling into step beside me. “Casper was asking about you earlier.”
That stopped me cold. “What?”
Mason shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Dunno. He was just looking around during warm-up and said, ‘Where’s Eli?’ Thought maybe you ghosted.”
“I had a lab,” I said automatically, even though he hadn’t asked.
Mason nodded. “Cool. Just figured I’d pass it on. He didn’t seem mad or anything. Just… noticed.”
He peeled off toward the vending machines after that, straw between his lips, already focused on whatever snack he was hunting. Like he hadn’t just lobbed a live grenade into my nervous system.
I stood there for a second too long, heart ticking up.
Casper noticed I wasn’t there?
He’d been ignoring me all week. Barely glanced at me unless I screwed up a landing or held a position too long. But now he was looking?
I shook it off and headed inside, trying not to overthink it. Or read into it. Or let the heat crawling up the back of my neck settle into something worse.
Still. My palms were already sweating by the time I pushed through the locker room doors.
The gym was mostly empty when I walked in.
Afternoon light slanted in through the high windows, catching dust in the air. A couple second-years were finishing rings in the far corner, but otherwise it was just mats, equipment, and the faint echo of rubber soles against polished floor.
Casper was by the parallel bars, spotting someone I didn’t recognize — probably a senior. His shirt was already clinging to his back, sweat darkening the fabric in a wide V. He wasn’t looking at me.
I kept my eyes down and headed to the stretch area, pretending like I wasn’t already on edge. My body felt hot and uncoordinated, as though I hadn’t been inside this place a dozen times already. I sat, pulled one leg in, reached for the stretch, and tried to keep my breathing even.
I was halfway through warm-up when his voice cut through the air.
“Track star.”
I looked up fast.
Casper was walking toward me, towel slung over his shoulder, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Thought you skipped town,” he said.
“Nope,” I said, too quickly. “Just had a lab.”
He stopped in front of me, arms crossed over his chest. His biceps flexed slightly under the fabric. “You’re late.”
“I didn’t know I was expected.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re always expected.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. My mouth went a little dry.
Casper nodded at the pommel horse. “Come on. Let’s run form.”
I got up, legs a little shaky. He didn’t wait for me, just turned and walked. I followed, pulse ticking upward.
At the horse, he stood close. His hand brushed the small of my back as I stepped into position. Not an adjustment. Just… contact.
“Mount,” he said.
I did.
I held the position. Breathe in, breathe out.
His hand landed lightly on my hip.
“You’re off-centre,” he murmured, stepping in behind me.
The words hit my skin like heat. His fingers pressed firmly, guiding me back a couple inches.
“That’s better.”
I held still, muscles tight. I could feel the warmth of his chest close behind me, not touching, but close enough that I could smell the sharp tang of sweat and fabric softener and something distinctly him.
“Hold,” he said, voice lower now. “Breathe.”
I did.
Then his hand slid. Not up — not in a way that could be explained as coaching — but down. A slow trace from my waist to the top of my thigh, featherlight. His fingers lingered for one second too long, then lifted.
“Relax,” he said, stepping back. “You’re locking your knees again.”
I dropped the hold, legs trembling.
Casper circled in front of me, eyes scanning my body like he was reading it. His mouth didn’t move, but something about the way he looked at me, quiet, sharp, deliberate, made it hard to meet his gaze.
“Take five,” he said. “Then we’ll work on some verticals.”
And just like that, he turned and walked off, like nothing had happened.
But it had for me.
I could still feel the imprint of his fingers through my shorts. I could still smell him in my the back of my senses. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my water bottle.
Five minutes never felt so long.
Five minutes wasn’t enough.
I’d barely gotten my heart rate down when Casper called me over to the wall mats. His singlet was plastered to his chest now, damp with sweat, and he barely looked at me when he spoke.
“Let’s see your handstand hold.”
I nodded. My mouth was dry.
He stood behind me as I lined up, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. I lowered my hands to the mat and kicked up. Wobbled. His hands caught my waist, steadying me, sliding slightly as he adjusted my hips.
“Lock it,” he said.
I tightened everything—core, arms, legs. Held the position.
Then I felt him step closer.
Way closer.
His chest touched my lower back. His stomach brushed mine. And then his crotch settled right against my ass.
I froze.
It wasn’t subtle. I could feel the shape of it—thick, heavy, real. It pressed up between my cheeks through the thin fabric of my singlet. No way to mistake it for anything else. No way he didn’t know exactly where he was standing.
I stayed upside down, hands planted, every muscle screaming.
“Good,” he said. His hands stayed firm at my waist. “Hold.”
My dick started to stir.
No. Not now.
But it was happening anyway. I was hard. Getting harder by the second, the blood rushing south as my face flushed hot. My dick pressed against the front of my singlet, bent awkwardly toward my chest. It throbbed with every heartbeat.
I shifted, trying to come down.
Casper didn’t let me. His grip tightened just slightly. “Don’t drop.”
“I’m—” My arms shook.
“You’re not tired,” he said. “You’re distracted.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
There was no way he didn’t see my hardon from where he was standing. I was sweating profusely now and it wasn’t just from the exertion.
His voice dropped a little lower. “You always tense up like this when I’m training you?”
I offered no response, I just struggled to retain what little composure I had left, and what little, if any, decency.
My eyes squeezed shut. My dick pulsed harder. I tried again to lower, but his hands held me in place.
“Ten more seconds,” he said. “Show me you can focus.”
I couldn’t even breathe right. I held the position anyway, shaking.
Then, finally, his hands lifted.
“Down slow,” he said.
I came down too fast. Landed on all fours, panting, the front of my singlet tented and obvious.
Casper stepped around me slowly, grabbing his water bottle from the mat.
“You’ve got the strength,” he said, like none of what just happened had happened. “It’s just focus.”
I stayed down, still catching my breath.
“Don’t let your head get in the way of your form,” he added, like it was just a normal correction.
Then, as he passed behind me again, he gave my ass a quick, light slap.
“Nice effort,” he said. “Keep working that line.”
And just like that, he walked off.
I stayed crouched for a second after he walked off. My arms were shaking. My heart wouldn’t slow down. And my dick—yeah, still hard.
I shifted to my knees, tried to fix myself, but the singlet wasn’t exactly built for hiding anything. I was pointing straight up like some kind of freak.
That slap.
It wasn’t even rough or weird. Just a little coach-pat. “Nice effort.” Totally normal. Probably. Guys do that all the time, right?
Still, my legs were shaking. My face felt like it was on fire.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about how long he’d stayed behind me. How close he was. The way it felt: his whole body lined up behind mine. I wasn’t imagining that. I don’t think.
Maybe it was just how the drills work. Maybe that’s just how close you have to be to adjust someone’s form.
But still. The way it pressed against me. And then he wouldn’t let me come down. Made me hold it. He said I was “distracted.”
No shit I was distracted.
I stood up slow. Still hard. Still trying to breathe.
Whatever that was… I couldn’t explain it. And I didn’t know what it meant. All I knew was I was losing my mind, and he barely seemed to notice.
I sat there for a long time after he left. Just breathing. Letting the silence settle back in. The echo of footsteps through the gym. The sound of the fans whirring overhead. My cock still hard. My skin still flushed. My brain wrecked in ways I didn’t have language for. I didn’t know if this was a game, a test, or just who Casper was. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop shaking. And I didn’t want him to stop.
Chapter 7: Private Session
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
It had been three days since the last practice. Three days since Casper pressed his impressive package against my butt, got me hard as rock, then walked off all casual. Three days of trying not to read into it. I told myself I was overthinking, that he was just doing his job, that it hadn’t meant anything. But the truth was, I’d replayed that moment, like, a hundred times. I could still feel the ghost of his chest against my back when I lay in bed at night. Still woke up hard, still couldn’t make it go away.
I didn’t even bother trying to jerk off anymore. Not with Mason always around. Not with my brain as scrambled as it had been lately. If anything, the pressure was building.
On the way to the athletic centre, the air outside was cool and refreshing. One of those early-fall days where the breeze could sneak through your sleeves and remind you your winter was on its way. I kept my head down as I walked, earbuds in, trying to drown out everything with music. It didn’t work. All I could think about was whether Casper would touch me again. Whether I’d be able to handle it if he did. Or if I’d crack, right there on the mat.
The gym was mostly empty when I arrived. A couple guys on the rowing machines. One girl loading plates onto a squat rack. No sign of Mason. No sign of Casper either.
I liked it better this way. No audience. Fewer eyes.
I warmed up alone, moving through the drills we’d practiced last week. My shoulders felt stiff. My lower back was tight. Every stretch brought a dull ache, and beneath that, a low, familiar throb that hadn’t gone away in days.
I stretched slowly, letting my muscles warm, trying to get my head in the right place. I knew I was falling behind. Everyone else had been landing clean. My core alignment was off. My release points were weak. And now that I’d caught Casper’s attention, I couldn’t afford to keep screwing up.
I was halfway through a strength circuit when I heard the door to the back office open.
Casper stepped out, wearing black track pants and a thin grey tee that clung to his chest. He looked like he’d just changed; maybe he’d just come from a shower or something.
“You’re early,” he said.
I wiped my face with my forearm. “Figured I’d get some extra reps in.”
“Good.” He grabbed a set of rings from the wall and walked toward me. “Let’s run through the hollow-body holds again. I want to see how long you can maintain shape before we move to dismounts.”
I nodded, trying not to stare at the way the hem of his shirt rose slightly when he reached overhead. I adjusted my position on the mat, focusing on my breathing. Stay focused. Stay tight. Don’t think.
He clipped the rings in place and stepped back. “Alright. Let’s see it.”
I jumped up, took hold, and lifted into the first hold. Casper’s hands were at my waist, adjusting me. My arms shook almost immediately.
“Tighter through the core,” he said. “You’re leaking energy.”
I clenched harder, gritted my teeth, tried to fuse everything together like we’d been taught.
“Still sagging through the hips,” Casper insisted as he traced his hand along my thighs, lighting me up like a firecracker. “Another rep.”
I dropped, wiped my palms, and jumped back up. His hands were on me again.
This time it was worse.
I felt the blood rush to my face. My shoulders burned. My legs weren’t locking properly. I knew I was screwing it up, but the real problem was lower. Pressed thick and full against the front of my shorts, throbbing with every exertion.
I’d felt it building during the warm-up. I’d tried to ignore it. But now, hanging from the rings with my arms trembling and sweat running down my back, it was impossible to pretend I wasn’t hard.
I adjusted slightly on the landing, trying to shift things without making it obvious.
“Again,” he said, still gripping me firmly, repositioning me like a rigid sculpture.
I nodded and jumped up a third time. Less height this time. Less control. My cock pressed even harder against the inside of my shorts, stiff and insistent. I was starting to sweat for real now—not from effort, but from panic. I couldn’t tell if Casper had noticed. Part of me was sure he had. Another part was praying he hadn’t.
“Drop,” he said finally.
I let go and landed hard on my feet.
Casper walked over, calm as ever. “You’re not hitting your shapes.”
“I know. I’m trying—”
“I can tell. But your core’s not firing. Your form’s collapsing.”
He crouched beside me. I could feel his eyes tracing me, cool and measured.
“You’ve got too much tension,” he said. “Something’s pulling your focus.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything, his eyes flicked down.
Then back up.
It was the smallest gesture. Not even a full glance. But it hit like a spotlight.
My whole body locked. I could feel myself blushing, chest tight, breath caught in my throat.
Casper didn’t comment right away. Just rested one elbow on his knee and looked at me like he had solved a riddle.
“You’re hard,” he said, finally.
I flinched. “I—what?”
Casper’s expression didn’t change. “You’re hard.”
He said it the same way he’d tell someone they weren’t sticking their landing on a dismount: flat, factual, like it was just another coaching note.
I looked away. My cheeks were burning.
“That’s what’s pulling your focus,” he said. “That constant pressure. Your body can’t work clean when it’s that distracted.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“You been taking care of it?”
My head snapped up. “What?”
He didn’t blink. “Jerking off. You doing it enough?”
“No,” I said, too quickly. “I mean—I haven’t. Not since school started.”
His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t seem surprised. “That long?”
“I’ve been busy. And—Mason’s always around. It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just—”
“You’re wound so tight I’m surprised you’re not shaking out of your skin.”
I laughed nervously. It came out dry. “Feels like I am.”
Casper stood. “That’s not sustainable.”
He didn’t elaborate. Just turned toward the back hallway again. I stayed kneeling, unsure if I was being dismissed or not.
Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Come with me.”
My throat went dry. “Where?”
“My office.”
I didn’t move.
Casper looked at me with that same quiet, grounded stare. Not unkind. Just firm.
“I’m not going to let you spiral like this,” he said. “You need to take the edge off. And you’re going to do it now so I can make sure it actually helps.”
That sentence hit different. My heart started beating harder.
“You mean… now, now?”
“Yes. Right. Now.”
He was already halfway down the hall.
I hesitated for a second then stood up slowly. My legs felt unsteady.
I followed him down the hall, my heart still racing but for a different reason now.
The idea of having a moment—just one—where I could actually let go, where no one was going to knock or walk in or ask what I was doing… it felt like a gift. Even if it came wrapped in the weirdest circumstances imaginable.
Casper’s steps were steady ahead of me. No hesitation. No judgment. Just a guy giving his athlete what he needed to reset.
And yeah, it was strange. But after weeks of walking around wired and aching, I didn’t care. Privacy was privacy.
I could finally take care of it. Clear my head. Maybe then I’d actually land something clean.
Casper reached the end of the hall and opened the office door. The light inside was already on, cool and clean, almost clinical.
He held the door for me. I stepped in, expecting to hear the click of it closing behind me, expecting maybe a word or two about towels or where the bathroom was.
But then he followed me in.
And closed the door behind us.
I blinked. Turned halfway, like I might’ve misread something. But Casper just moved past me, pulling out the desk chair and sitting down like this was a normal part of any Tuesday.
“Alright,” he said simply, nodding toward me. “Let’s get it done.”
I stared at him. “You’re… you’re staying?”
He leaned back, arms loose on the armrests. “Yeah.”
My stomach flipped. “I thought—I mean—I figured I’d have a minute or something. Alone.”
He looked at me evenly. “Why?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“This isn’t about getting off,” he said. “It’s about focus. Your performance. I’m here to monitor your progress. Same as I would with any drill.”
“That’s not the same thing…” I said. My voice cracked halfway through.
Casper didn’t react. “Eli. You need this. I’ve seen it all week. You’re coming apart at the seams.”
“I just—this is kind of—”
“Not optional.”
That shut me up.
He didn’t say it cruelly. Just firmly. Like a coach laying down a boundary. Like it was already decided.
I stood there frozen, pulse pounding in my throat.
Part of me wanted to walk out. Part of me wanted to melt through the floor.
And part of me… didn’t want to lose whatever this was.
I swallowed hard. My hands moved, slow and clumsy, to the waistband of my shorts.
Casper didn’t flinch.
Just watched.
Waiting.
My fingers hovered over the waistband, still unsure. But the longer I stood there, the more aware I became of how hard I still was. How much my body ached for relief.
Casper didn’t say anything else. Just watched me, steady and still, like he had all the time in the world.
I lowered my shorts.
Not all the way, just enough. Just enough to stroke my dick, finally, after so long.
I curled one hand around myself and exhaled through my nose, trying to stay quiet, trying not to think too much. My other hand braced against the armrest of the chair balance. It felt wrong—doing this with someone else in the room—but it also felt… so good. Like something had been circling me for weeks and finally closed in. An inevitable release.
I kept my eyes down. I didn’t dare look at him.
But I could feel him. I could feel his gaze resting on me like a palm between my shoulder blades. I imagined what he saw: my runner’s legs tight, my hand moving slow, my skin flushed and damp from training. I pictured what he might be thinking, then stopped, having embarrassed myself too much.
I bit the inside of my cheek, working up a rhythm. It felt good. Not perfect—I couldn’t forget that Casper was watching, there was too much heat in my ears—but it was better than nothing.
And then—
“Take the rest off.”
The words hit like cold water.
I froze. “What?”
“Clothes,” Casper said, like it was obvious. “Get them off.”
I turned slightly, finally looking at him. “Why?”
“It’s part of the release,” he said, calm as ever. “You’re too wound up. Can’t let go if half your body’s still clenched in fabric. Strip.”
I stared at him, confused. My body kept moving almost on its own, like it didn’t hear the hesitation in my head.
“You want to land your dismounts, right?” he added.
I nodded, swallowing.
“Then trust the process.”
I didn’t even remember kicking my shoes off. My shirt came off next—then the rest. All of it. I was too far gone to stop at that point. I needed to get off.
I stood there naked, cock in my hand, sweat drying across my ribs.
And Casper?
Casper didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even shift in his seat.
He just watched.
And I kept going.
But it was impossible not to feel it: the weight of his eyes. The silence of the room. The strange tether between us, that he clearly held control of.
My cock stood fully hard in my grip, flushed deep pink, perfectly smooth. Circumcised, taut with arousal, the head shiny with slick already. I hated how good it looked, how clean and eager it felt in my palm. I hated that I noticed it. I couldn’t believe that I was showing it to him.
But more than that, I was shocked by how much I wanted him to like what he saw.
I shifted my stance slightly, feet shoulder-width apart, chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. My thumb grazed the head, and my hips twitched forward on instinct.
My mind should’ve been blank, but it wasn’t.
It was screaming.
Because this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.
Casper was right there. Still fully clothed. Still composed. Watching like it was a test I had to pass, and I didn’t even know the grading criteria.
This was the same guy I’d imagined dozens of times alone in bed. The one I’d thought about in the locker room showers, in the quiet corners of my head between drills. But in those fantasies, I set the terms of engagement, now he was staging the scene.
And it was worse. So much worse.
Now his eyes were on me instead of his hands, and he was just… watching.
“You’re slowing down,” he said suddenly, his voice low and even.
I flinched.
“I—no, I’m—”
“Get it done, Eli.”
His tone wasn’t harsh. Just certain.
And somehow that made me harder.
My face burned. My arm tightened.
I started jerking faster.
My strokes picked up, uneven at first, then steadier as I tried to block everything else out. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Casper, sitting barely a few feet away. Calm. Straight-backed. Watching like he was appreciating art.
I hated how much that mattered to me. How much I wanted to perform.
My balls slapped lightly against my thighs with each movement, swinging with the rhythm—tight and high, skin flushed and pulled taut from days of pent-up pressure. I’d never been this full. Never been this on edge. Even the air felt weighted, heavy against my chest.
Every time my hand passed the base, I could feel the way they bounced, a physical reminder that I was putting on a show I hadn’t meant to give.
I should’ve been ashamed.
I was ashamed.
But I was also so goddamn close I could barely think.
Casper didn’t shift. Didn’t break eye contact.
His gaze had that same precision he used during drills: sharp, surgical. Like he was breaking me down into parts. Analyzing movement. Tension. Weak points.
My breath stuttered. My hand slipped slightly with pre-cum, and I adjusted without thinking, fingers tightening.
My knees almost buckled.
My strokes were messy now, desperate. I could feel the finish climbing, fast and hot, like a thread pulled too tight.
But I was still trying to hold back.
Some part of me thought I shouldn’t. That I couldn’t. Not like this. Not in front of him. Not while he sat there fully dressed, silent and in control, watching every twitch of my body.
My grip faltered.
“Don’t stop,” Casper said.
It wasn’t a shout. Just a command, smooth and quiet, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
“Finish it,” he said, eyes locked to mine now. “You need this.”
My stomach clenched. My thighs trembled.
“Come on, Eli. Let it go.”
That did it.
I groaned, tried to bite it back, but it tore out of me anyway as my whole body seized.
I jerked once, twice, and then I was spilling across my knuckles, thick and fast, every pulse a sharp wave that made my knees shake. My balls tightened high before finally easing down, spent.
I kept stroking through it, like he wanted. Like I needed.
By the time I stopped, my hand was slick and twitching.
I could still feel his eyes on me.
And I didn’t dare look up.
Not yet.
The silence after was worse than anything.
With my horniness spent, the shame in me doubled over.
What just happened?
I stood there panting, hand dripping, legs weak, chest heaving—and Casper didn’t say a word.
Not at first.
Then he let out a soft, amused exhale. Almost a laugh. Not mean exactly, but knowing. Like I’d just done something ridiculous and he’d enjoyed every second of it.
“Christ,” he said, almost under his breath. “You were really wound up.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
My brain was soup, my face hot, and my dick still gave the occasional twitch, expelling tiny amounts of cum that it hadn’t thought to release in the initial volcano.
Casper stood and reached over to the small shelf near the door, tossing me a towel. “Clean yourself up, then get dressed.”
I caught it clumsily and wiped down in silence, eyes fixed on the floor. I didn’t know what to say. Or if I was supposed to say anything.
By the time I finished and started pulling my clothes back on, Casper was already moving. Calm. Unbothered.
As if it was just another part of training.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve still got work to do.”
I wasn’t sure I was ready to get back out on the mats, but I wanted to impress Casper after my poor performance earlier.
I followed him out, still tugging my shirt down over my stomach, every part of me flushed and shaky.
Back on the mats, the gym looked exactly the same.
But I didn’t feel the same.
Not even close.
I tried to shake it off.
Tried to reset.
The rings waited above me like nothing had changed. Like I hadn’t just emptied myself in the back office with my coach sitting ten feet away.
Watching me.
I moved through the drills again. My form was tighter this time. Cleaner. My arms didn’t tremble as much, and my core held steadier. For a few minutes, I almost believed I could compartmentalize it.
Then Casper stepped in behind me.
His hands landed on my hips, light, precise, familiar.
But this time, my body reacted before my brain did.
The heat flared back to life. Fast. Brutal. Like a fuse had just been relit. My cock twitched against the inside of my shorts, already swelling again.
Already.
I swallowed hard and tried to hide it, shifting my stance, but it was too late. I could feel it building. The shame. The rush. The hard truth of it.
Casper’s hands stayed where they were, firm on my sides.
He didn’t adjust me this time.
Didn’t correct my posture or give another cue.
He just stood there—still, silent—like he was waiting for something.
I kept my eyes forward, body locked, pretending not to notice the heat rising like a furnace again low in my stomach. Pretending I wasn’t swelling against my shorts for the second time in under an hour.
Pretending I wasn’t humiliated beyond words.
Then his hands shifted slightly.
Not down. Not inappropriate. Just… firmer. Intentional.
He leaned in, voice lower than before. “You’re hard again.”
I blinked. My fingers tightened around the rings. My legs wanted to buckle.
There was no accusation in his tone. Just observation. Like it was something he’d expected. Something he was cataloguing.
He let the silence stretch, and I felt myself fall into it—helpless and raw, skin buzzing.
Then, finally, his voice again. Even softer.
“Maybe there’s something in the gym causing all this tension.”
He stepped away after delivering that devastating line without another word.
Training sesh over.
And I just stood there, cock painfully stiff, brain short-circuiting.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
What the hell was happening to me?
What the fuck was he doing?
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Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
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