Only When He Said I Could
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
I closed the gym door behind me with more care than it deserved, like if I eased it shut slow enough, it wouldn’t echo down the hallway and announce the state I was in.
The lights were still off in the dorm when I got back. Mason’s side of the room glowed faintly with the blue of his laptop, casting that weird underwater light over his bare chest as he scrolled with one hand and scratched his stomach with the other. He looked up as I walked in.
“Practice go late?”
I let my bag fall and nudged it out of the way with my foot. “Sort of.”
Mason didn’t say anything at first. He just watched me a second too long, his expression unreadable in the half-light. Then he clicked his trackpad, closed the screen, and leaned back in his chair.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I was halfway to the bathroom before I turned. “What thing?”
He tilted his head. “That thing you do when you come back from these early morning sessions with Coach Casper.”
I flushed hot. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Mason stood and stretched, arms overhead, ribs visible under his smooth skin. He always stretched like that, like he wanted to remind the room how much space he could occupy. “You’ve been weird all week. Kind of jumpy. Kinda quiet. Not your usual twitchy, like… off.”
I tried to keep my face blank. “I’m just tired.”
“Then let’s blow it off.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Friday. Drinks. You and me. Let’s go out somewhere. Clear your head.”
I almost laughed. “With what fake ID?”
Mason grinned, already walking to his dresser. He opened a drawer, dug around, and pulled out two pieces of plastic. “You think I didn’t plan ahead?”
He tossed mine across the room. I caught it, barely.
The photo was awful. The name wasn’t mine. BUT… the birth year put me squarely in legal territory.
“Could be fun,” Mason said, flopping down on his bed. “Or at least more fun than sitting around acting all haunted.”
I hesitated.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I said finally, voice thin. “Okay. Let’s go out.”
Mason nodded like he’d known I’d say yes all along. He reached for his phone and started texting someone. Probably scouting where to go, who to meet, who to charm.
I turned toward the bathroom, locking the door behind me with a quiet click.
I didn’t turn on the light right away.
I just stood there, hands braced on the edge of the sink, letting the darkness press in for a second.
Then I looked up and met my own reflection.
I didn’t look different, which was almost worse. Same hair falling over my forehead, same soft jaw, same too-pale skin. I looked tired, maybe. But not like someone who had done what I’d done.
Nothing about my face gave it away. Not the way my knees had dug into rubber matting, not the heat that had stayed in my cheeks all day after.
I ran the tap and let the water run cold before splashing it over my face. It didn’t help much. Everything still felt tight. Like my body was holding something I hadn’t gotten out.
There was a knock on the door. Mason’s voice came through, casual. “You good in there?”
“Yeah,” I called back, too fast.
He didn’t press.
I stayed a moment longer, hands braced on the edge of the sink, watching the water bead along my jaw before it fell. My mouth still tasted like nothing. But my brain wouldn’t stop inventing things—what it would taste like if I—
I cut the thought off and grabbed my toothbrush.
Friday night came fast.
The fake ID was primed in my pocket the whole way there, like a soldier ready for duty. We caught a ride with one of Mason’s friends from the team, a guy I barely knew, who kept talking about how “dead” the scene had been last weekend but swore this place would be different. Mason played along, tossing out names, asking who was working the bar, who might show. I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window.
The place looked older than I expected. Not a club, more like a lounge someone tried to make cool again with LED lights and loud playlists. We handed over our IDs and the bouncer didn’t blink. Just unhooked the velvet rope and let us through.
Inside was packed. Music too loud, bass thudding deep in the floor, the smell of old beer and new cologne mixing in a way that made my stomach twitch. Mason moved through it as though he wasn’t an underage college student who had no business being there. He ordered drinks without asking what I wanted. Rum and Coke, two of them. Passed me one with a grin.
“Try to enjoy yourself,” he shouted over the music. “That’s kind of the point.”
I nodded and took a sip. It was sweet and strong and exactly what I needed.
We found a table near the back, half-shadowed, with a view of the dance floor. Mason leaned against the railing, already scanning. He didn’t need to wait long.
A girl in a leather crop top made a beeline straight for him, barely said anything before she was touching his arm, laughing too loudly. Another followed, then another. They hovered, tilted their heads, reached for his biceps like it was an open bar. Mason let them. He smiled, joked, let them touch. But every few minutes he looked back at me, like he was checking that I was still okay.
I wasn’t sure what my face was doing. I smiled when it felt right. Laughed when something was probably meant to be funny. I even caught a glance or two from across the room, but no one came over. And I didn’t try to close the distance.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
Mason brought me another rum and coke.
The drink hit me slow. I didn’t feel drunk exactly, just soft. Like the edges of things had gone a little fuzzy. Time stopped behaving right. The lights looked warmer. My shirt stuck to my back from the heat of the crowd, but I didn’t mind it.
I must’ve zoned out because the next thing I knew, Mason was back at our table, pressing another glass into my hand. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He smiled at me — not the cocky one he gave everyone else, but the small one, the one that felt like it was just for me. “Let’s bounce soon. You look kind of done.”
I looked past him at the girls still lingering near the bar, one of them obviously waiting for him to come back.
“You don’t have to leave because of me.”
Mason shrugged. “I’ll live. Not like I’ve got a shortage of offers.”
He slung an arm around my shoulder, steadying me as we walked toward the door. “Besides,” he added, grinning down at me, “you’re cuter than half the girls in there.”
My face flushed hot, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the compliment.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“I mean it,” he said.
Then, before I could confuse the flattery for interest:
“Some girl will check out your goods in no time, dude, don’t worry about it!”
He added, “Someone will for sure…” and then flashed me one of those award-winning, all-teeth Mason smiles.
We stepped out into the night air. Cold hit me like a reset button. The pavement was damp, reflecting pinks and blues from the lights behind us. The street was lined with people — laughing, shouting, stumbling toward Ubers or leaning against walls while they waited.
That’s when I saw him.
Casper.
He was across the street, under the awning of another bar. Jacket half unzipped, one hand gripping the waist of a tall blonde in heels, the other curved around the back of her neck. They were kissing like they hadn’t seen each other in years — hungry, fast, mouths open, bodies pressed close. His hand slid up her side, fingers splaying across her breast like he didn’t care who saw.
My stomach dropped. My feet didn’t move.
She laughed against his mouth and swatted his hand like it was all part of the dance. He said something I couldn’t hear, leaned in again, harder this time. She responded. His fingers were under her top now. They didn’t stop.
A car pulled up. He opened the door, guided her in with a palm to the small of her back, then slid in beside her. The door shut. The car pulled away.
It happened fast.
But not fast enough for me to miss anything.
Mason followed my gaze. “Way to go, Coach,” he said with a laugh, like it was just some guy, just some moment.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
We walked in silence the rest of the way.
Saturday blurred.
I stayed in bed longer than I meant to, scrolling through my phone like something on it might explain what I’d seen. Casper’s hand on her waist. Casper’s mouth on hers. Casper getting into that Uber like he had nothing else waiting for him.
He hadn’t touched me the way he touched her. Not really. His hand never lingered. His voice never changed. There was no hunger. Just control.
And that should’ve made it easier. It didn’t.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Her perfect hair, his easy confidence. The way she arched into him like she belonged there. Like he wanted her to.
I thought about what it would be like to kiss him like that. To have him like that. Not the way he used me, not the mechanical stuff — but that. The messier kind. The kind you get when you’re both on the same page.
Mason kept his distance. He went out again that night. Didn’t ask if I wanted to come. Just tossed me a look on the way out that said he knew I wouldn’t.
I watched a movie I didn’t remember five minutes later.
Jerked off with the lights off, but it didn’t make things better.
Sunday was more of the same. I left the dorm once — just to get air — but the walk didn’t help. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d let something happen to me that meant nothing to him. Like I’d volunteered for a role he hadn’t even cast.
By the time I went to bed, I was more anxious than tired.
Monday was coming.
And I had no idea what would happen when I saw him again.
Casper hadn’t made me come in for training the last few mornings.
After the rim job — after I’d been face-deep between his legs on the gym mat, licking him like it was part of the warm-up — he gave me space. No texts. No drills. Just the usual silence, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
But then Sunday night, I got the text.
6:42 p.m.
Be at the gym tomorrow. Early. Back to routine.
I stared at it for a long time before typing a single word:
ok.
Now I was here. The gym looked exactly the same. But everything in me felt off.
Casper didn’t say hello. He was already moving, already deep into a shoulder roll as I dropped my bag near the rings.
“Warm up,” he said, nodding toward the far mats. “We’ve got work to do.”
I nodded, peeled off my hoodie, and dropped into a stretch. My body remembered the movements even if my brain was elsewhere. Lunge, twist, hold. Breathing slow, eyes fixed on the floor.
Casper moved around me, correcting things with touch and words. “Flatten your lower back. No, flatter. You’re compensating. Again.”
His hands weren’t aggressive, but every contact sparked heat. The way his palm skimmed my hip, the brush of his knee as he stepped between mine to show me the right angle — it was all normal. It was all technical. But I felt it everywhere.
We ran through drills. Hollow body holds. Tuck planche. Swing form. Casper didn’t speak much, and I didn’t dare.
But halfway through a shoulder mount hold, I slipped. Just a fraction. My legs shook. Casper adjusted my form with a firm touch. I tightened my core and tried to breathe through it, but I was already gone. My cock thickened in my shorts like it had been waiting all morning. The blood rushed faster than I could stop it.
Casper saw.
He let me hold the pose a second longer than he needed to. Then he stepped in and braced my hips with both hands.
“I see we’re still dealing with that tension. Must be what’s throwing off your form,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I can’t—”
He cut me off. “I thought last time would help.”
He let go of me. I collapsed onto the mat, panting.
“You came,” he said, voice calm. “You got it out of your system.”
I stayed on the floor, eyes on the seam in the mat. My cock was still tenting my shorts. Useless.
Casper sighed.
“Clearly jerking off isn’t enough,” he said. “Not when you’re this wound up.”
I didn’t say anything.
“On your knees.”
My stomach flipped. I looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. Not playful. Not angry. Just matter-of-fact.
I swallowed and shifted, my knees pressing down into the soft vinyl.
Casper stepped closer. Unfastened his waistband. His cock was already half-hard.
He didn’t speak at first. Just looked down at me, then tilted his head slightly, like something wasn’t right.
“Take everything off,” he said.
My throat tightened.
“All of it,” he added, like it was obvious.
I hesitated, just long enough to feel the heat crawl up my chest. Then I stood. My hands went to my waistband.
Casper didn’t look away. He just watched.
First the compression shorts. Then the shirt. Socks. Everything in a small pile at the edge of the mat. I knelt again, bare this time, my skin already prickling from the air and his eyes.
My dick was hard — of course it was — pulsing now that nothing covered it. I tried to shift without being obvious, but I saw the flicker of a smirk at the edge of his mouth when it twitched against my thigh.
He didn’t comment.
Didn’t touch me.
Just stepped forward and guided his cock to my mouth.
It was heavy on my tongue, already thickening as I wrapped my lips around it. I adjusted my angle, flattening my tongue to take him deeper. He tasted clean, like skin and sweat and something unmistakably man.
His hand rested at the back of my head. Not pressing. Just there.
I started to move. Slow, deliberate strokes, letting the rhythm settle in. My own cock bobbed slightly as I worked, untouched but stiff, aching with every movement of my jaw.
Casper didn’t speak much. Just the occasional murmur.
“Slower.”
“Use your tongue there.”
“Good. Just like that.”
I could hear his breath shifting. Not panting. Just heavier. He jerked his hips forward once — not rough, just enough to make me choke a little — then steadied again.
My hand drifted to my cock. I stroked once. Then again. Lightly. I wasn’t even thinking about it. I just needed the pressure.
Casper saw.
He didn’t stop me.
His cock was heavier than I expected. Warm and smooth, thick enough to stretch my lips in a way that made my jaw tense almost immediately. I shifted my angle, trying to find the right position, not just for comfort, but to do it right. Whatever right meant.
I’d never done this before. Not for anyone.
But my mouth moved like it had been waiting.
I flattened my tongue, let him slide deeper, then pulled back to suck gently at the head. I couldn’t get over the taste of his skin, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before and it hit the back of my throat in a way that made my stomach flutter. My lips felt stretched already, my tongue working in ways I hadn’t practiced, hadn’t even imagined clearly until now.
But it was his cock.
Casper.
The man I’d been staring at for weeks. The one who touched my body like it belonged to him, who never smiled unless he meant it. And now I had him in my mouth. My lips wrapped around the thing I’d been dying to see, to taste, to please.
The thought alone sent heat rippling down my chest.
I adjusted again, cheeks hollowing. My tongue flicked lightly along the underside of his shaft, and I swore I felt his fingers tense slightly at the back of my head — just for a second. Then relaxed. Like he was letting me do it. Like he wanted to see what I’d do on my own.
I bobbed my head a little more confidently. Not fast. Just enough to create a rhythm. I could feel the saliva building at the corners of my mouth, trailing a little as I sank deeper. My hand came up, reflexively wrapping around the base where my mouth couldn’t reach. I stroked in time with the rhythm, matching the pace.
A small sound escaped my throat — not a gag, just a groan, involuntary and quiet.
I was getting into it.
Too into it, probably.
But I didn’t care.
The weight of him. The way he twitched slightly when I hit the right spot. The subtle grunt he gave when I swallowed just a little deeper. All of it sent electricity sparking straight down to my cock, which was still throbbing between my legs, rock hard, untouched.
I needed relief. Something. Anything.
So I started stroking.
Slow, careful, trying not to break the moment. My hand slicked easily over the head, down the shaft, back again. Just enough to feed the burn. Just enough to keep me from losing it too fast.
But I could already feel it, the way my balls tightened slightly. The heat building behind my navel. My hips twitching forward in shallow, embarrassed little thrusts into nothing.
I moaned softly around his cock, mouth full, head moving faster now as my own pleasure climbed higher.
And then—
Casper’s foot slid forward.
Not hard. Just a light nudge. The top of it pressed against my wrist, firm enough to break the rhythm.
My hand froze.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.
The message was clear: not yet.
He kept his foot there for another second, just enough to make sure I got it. Then he shifted back slightly, his leg relaxing as if it had never moved.
I let go of my cock. My hand fell to my thigh, fingers twitching slightly from the tension. My whole body was buzzing — my jaw sore, my abs tight, my cock pulsing like it didn’t understand why it was being denied.
Casper’s fingers brushed through my hair, light and slow, a stark contrast to the pressure building in my chest.
“Focus,” he murmured.
It wasn’t cruel. Just efficient. Like everything with him.
I adjusted again and kept sucking.
Harder this time.
If I couldn’t cum, I’d make sure he did.
Casper’s hand settled more firmly on the back of my head now. Still not forcing, but guiding. His hips began to roll just slightly: deeper, slower. I let him lead.
My mouth adjusted to the rhythm, swallowing as much of him as I could. My throat burned, but I didn’t stop. I could feel the tension in his thighs, the flex and release, the subtle shift in his breathing. Every now and then, he made a small sound — not a moan exactly, more like a grunt of approval — and each one sent another jolt straight to my core.
My cock ached. The skin tight, the tip wet, painfully swollen. My hand hovered near it like a reflex, but I didn’t touch. Not yet.
Not without his word.
Casper’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened in my hair.
I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder, desperate now. I wanted to feel it. Needed to. I could tell he was close, his hips twitching, muscles drawn tight, thighs tensing with every pulse of pressure in my mouth.
Then—
He groaned low in his chest and came.
It hit the back of my throat in hot bursts. Bitter. Tangy. Sharp. I tried to take it, tried to keep swallowing, even as some of it slipped past my lips. My eyes watered, not from emotion but from effort, and I didn’t stop moving until he pulled back, cock slick and half-soft now, twitching slightly in the air between us.
I knelt there, panting through my nose, mouth still open, saliva glistening on my chin.
My cock throbbed like it was ready to launch for take off.
Casper looked down at me. Silent. Assessing. His chest rose and fell, the only sign that any of it had touched him at all.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t move.
I just waited.
He watched me — naked, hard, trembling on my knees — then finally gave a single nod.
“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”
That was all it took.
I gave myself maybe ten or twelve fast strokes.
And then I came.
Hard. Violent. My whole body buckled forward as the orgasm ripped through me. It hit my chest, my hand, the mat. I gasped, biting back a sound as it kept coming, more than I thought I had in me, spilling in thick, wet ropes across the floor and my stomach.
Casper gave a satisfied chuckle as my cum spewed forth like a geyser.
It was the most intense release I’d ever felt. And I didn’t even know why.
Maybe it was the wait.
Maybe it was being watched.
Maybe it was just him.
Casper didn’t give me long.
As soon as the last pulse left my body, he tossed a towel toward the mat. It landed in front of me with a soft thump.
“Clean it up,” he said, already turning away.
I wiped myself down — hands, chest, the slick streaks cooling fast on my skin and the mats too. My breath was still shaky, my legs a little useless beneath me, but I didn’t ask for a break. I just pressed the towel into the mess on the mat and bundled it quickly into the corner.
Casper was already at the rings.
“Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s see if you can focus on your training now.”
I blinked. “What?”
He didn’t answer. Just adjusted the straps and waited.
I pulled my clothes back on with hands that didn’t quite feel like mine. My underwear stuck uncomfortably to my skin. I didn’t even try to fix it.
By the time I joined him at the rings, he was already explaining the drill. Shoulders relaxed. Voice calm. Like nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t just swallowed his cum and exploded on the floor seconds later.
He didn’t touch me much after that. Corrected my swing technique once. Watched me fumble with grip a few times. Said “better” when I finally got it right.
And that was it.
Business as usual.
By the time we wrapped, my arms were shaking and my chest burned. But none of that matched the twist inside my stomach — the part of me still chasing meaning.
Casper packed up his gear. I stood by the wall, holding my water bottle like I was caught in a trance.
He gave me a short nod as he passed. “Wednesday. Same time.”
And then he was gone.
No comment. No smirk. No trace of what had just happened.
I sat on the edge of the mat for a long time after. Still sweating. Still hard to breathe.
He hadn’t kissed me. Not once.
Not even a look.
Not like with her.
That girl — the blonde with the perfect body and nightclub makeup — he’d touched her like he wanted her. Like she was a person. Someone he chose.
Me? I didn’t even know if I was a warm-up. A tool. A fucking receptacle.
But he let me suck his cock.
He let me come.
And now I couldn’t stop replaying all of it. The taste. The way he looked down at me. That wordless not yet from his foot.
This would definitely feed fap fantasies for weeks, months, maybe years to come.
And somewhere underneath it all, the question kept looping like static in the back of my head:
What am I to him?
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Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Long form M/M erotic stories for a discerning audience
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