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.
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Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
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