The bus jolted along the dark highway, but Ethan's body was still trembling, a persistent buzz humming through his skull. Complete intoxication. The thrill of victory. But most of all—Blake. Watching Blake glide across the ice, Ethan had been utterly mesmerized.
Ethan didn't understand shit about hockey, but his eyes couldn't leave Blake. A completely different Blake. Ethan could feel his emotions, his hormones, his entire body reacting to Blake's every move on the ice. When the final buzzer sounded at 3-1, Ethan found himself screaming alongside strangers he'd never met. Even now, sitting on the bus heading back to campus, that electric energy still thrummed through his veins.
Ethan barely registered that he was on a bus full of girls.
Almost.
"I'll convince the others to let my friend's sorority charter give you a ride—we've got empty seats." The girl in the trendy faux-fur vest lowered her voice, her perfectly French-manicured nails gripping her phone screen. "And remember, I was never part of that cesspool—that Discord group. That account has nothing to do with me!"
It had been completely accidental. In the crush of the post-game crowd, Ethan had been idly scrolling through that Discord server. He'd just read a complaint about drama in the nearby stands when he'd instinctively looked up and locked eyes with a polished girl who'd been staring at the exact same screen.
As for which user she was, Ethan decided to forget—he'd already traded his silence for a warm seat on this bus. He'd swallow this accidentally discovered secret. Was he accumulating too many secrets? Though given how easy it was to triangulate people's seating positions from their Discord discussions, their mutual recognition wasn't exactly a coincidence.
By the time Ethan made it back to his dorm and stared blankly at his computer for a while, the awkwardness of the situation finally hit him. He was grateful he'd been so spaced out during the ride—otherwise he might've died of a heart attack from the sorority bus environment. He couldn't even remember if he'd said goodbye to those girls, didn't even know how to say goodbye to people like that. Let them think he was rude and antisocial! It wasn't like Ethan would have any more interaction with them anyway.
When he snapped back to reality, it was already midnight. Campus hadn't quieted down yet—celebration sounds echoed from multiple directions. That's when Ethan's phone vibrated, Blake's name lighting up the screen. He stared at it for a moment.
"Yeah?"
"Hey." Blake's voice came through, exhausted and deep. "Can you meet me? Arena back entrance. Tell security you're helping a friend grab equipment—I'll let you in."
That raw tone reminded Ethan of the Blake who dominated him in his wet dreams, making his chest tighten.
"Give me twenty minutes."
Ethan hung up and rushed out of the dorm. He navigated the dim streetlights and dark paths until he reached the massive arena. He found the back door Blake had described. Before he could reach for the intercom, the lock buzzed and clicked open. Ethan slipped inside.
The hallway was pitch black, weak light from the windows barely outlining the floor, and emergency exit signs were the only real illumination. The smell hit him immediately—that distinctive locker room cocktail: rubber, sweat, and chemicals. Melted ice, maybe. His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor as he followed Blake's text directions: second door on the right.
Ethan pushed it open.
The locker room stretched before him, exactly like the scenes from his dreams, but this was the first time he'd actually set foot here. Rows of metal lockers lined the walls, forgotten rolls of tape and water bottles scattered between benches. Overhead fluorescent lights buzzed, casting everything in harsh white light.
And in the center stood Blake.
He wore a white compression shirt, as he'd just thrown it on after showering, the fabric soaked through to near-transparency, clinging to every contour of his body—the swell of his pecs, the valleys of his abs, the shadows of his serratus muscles. Below, he wore only a white jockstrap, thick straps digging into his solid thigh roots, leaving his perfectly sculpted ass and powerful thighs almost completely exposed. His hair was still damp, golden strands sticking to his forehead.
"Boss," Blake called out.
This was the masculine domain Ethan had never truly entered, the locker room he'd resented from the outside. Now he stood here, summoned by its golden boy, standing in the heart of the team.
"Blake." Ethan's voice was steadier than he felt. "What's going on? You should still be celebrating with your team—"
"I know." Blake closed the distance between them in three quick strides. Ethan could feel the heat radiating from Blake's body. "Mike got wasted... I took him back. Coach called after, said celebration's over, told me to get some rest. I don't have to go back."
Up close, Ethan could see the exhaustion in Blake's eyes, but beneath it lurked something else—hunger, need, that same desperate quality from their phone calls. The compression shirt displayed every breath, every contraction of his abs.
"So you decided to call me to an empty locker room at midnight..." Ethan's words were cut off as Blake reached out, fingertips brushing along his jaw.
"To give you what you've been demanding," Blake said softly. His thumb traced Ethan's lower lip. "My first time. Here. Where I'm supposed to reign."
Ethan held his breath. Fantasy was crystallizing into reality, but not how he'd imagined in his dreams. This wasn't some exaggerated version of Blake—this was the real him, in the place where he held all the power, offering himself to Ethan.
"Cameras—" Ethan started.
"Security doesn't check until six AM, he's passed out with his vodka, won't specifically review tonight's footage unless there's an incident." His hand slid to Ethan's chest. "I checked."
Ethan looked into Blake's eyes, seeing the same hunger reflected back—Blake orchestrating his own submission, choosing the battlefield, choosing his conqueror.
"I'm going to ruin you here," Ethan said, his voice dropping several octaves. "Right in your domain."
"I know," Blake whispered. He kissed Ethan, then reached for his crotch.
"Fuck, you're already rock hard. Get that thing inside me."
Ethan's already-erect cock twitched in his pants.
Blake's hands went to Ethan's zipper, freeing the 8.5-inch beast—massive, flushed, harder than ever before.
Blake licked his lips, then gripped Ethan's cock and bent down, swirling his tongue around Ethan's head.
"Yes, you jock slut, you're my bitch. Take it. Swallow it all!"
He didn't wait. He thrust forward, forcing Blake to accept him. Blake looked up, those blue eyes wide and submissive, before his lips parted to swallow Ethan whole.
"Fuck..." Ethan's head fell back as wet heat enveloped him. Blake's sucking was still incredible, his tongue working Ethan's sensitive underside, the way Blake forced himself to take it deeper even as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
Ethan could feel Blake's throat squeezing his cock—wet, hot, gripping him tight.
This was power. This was the hockey star on his knees, in the locker room where everyone worshipped him, choking on Ethan's dick. Ethan grabbed Blake's hair, not gently, feeling him moan around his shaft.
"That's right," Ethan growled. "Good boy, show me what that golden boy mouth is good for!"
Blake pulled off with a wet sound, gasping, saliva connecting his lips to Ethan's swollen tip. "Whatever you want, Boss. I'm yours."
Ethan thrust back into Blake's mouth, making him gag, sliding in Blake's throat. The sensations overwhelmed Ethan's nerves. He quickly pulled his meat out—he didn't want to finish this early. His goal was Blake's cherry. Coming in Blake's mouth would mean missing it again.
"Stand up," Ethan commanded sharply. "Strip."
Blake obeyed, peeling off the compression shirt to reveal the body that drove campus girls crazy—defined pecs, tight abs, the V-line disappearing into his jockstrap. When he hooked his thumbs in the waistband to remove it, Ethan stopped him.
"Leave it. I want to fuck you while you're still wearing your jock gear."
Ethan pulled Blake's head down—the jock towering over him—and crashed their lips together, rough and dominating, teeth biting Blake's lips as he forced his tongue inside. Blake moaned, fists clenching Ethan's hoodie as they stumbled toward a bench. Clothes came off frantically—Ethan's hoodie, his pants thrown aside. Blake's cock sprang free from the jockstrap's pouch while Ethan's thicker length hung heavy against his thigh. They broke apart, panting, and Ethan shoved Blake against the lockers, metal rattling softly.
"Turn around."
Ethan commanded breathlessly.
Blake obeyed, bracing against the lockers, his bubble ass framed by the jockstrap straps right in Ethan's face. Complete submission. Ethan swallowed hard, one hand squeezing Blake's balls while the other teased Blake's hole with his fingers. A whimper escaped Blake's mouth as he gasped, "Lube, there's... stuff here."
Ethan pulled his finger out with a wet pop, smirking. "I knew you'd plan ahead, slut."
Blake nodded, rummaging through a nearby locker—team supplies. A jar of Vaseline sat next to massage oil, the kind athletic trainers used for muscle massage.
"Came prepared." Blake said with a shaky smile.
"Good boy." Ethan approached, grabbing the Vaseline. "Now get on that bench. Let me see what I'm about to claim."
Blake complied, positioning himself so his hands gripped the bench edge, ass raised. Ethan slapped those perfect cheeks. Ethan could see him trembling—fear, anticipation, and desire all mixed together.
Ethan scooped out some Vaseline, warming it between his fingers. Then he pressed one slick finger against Blake's entrance, feeling him tense.
"Relax," Ethan ordered. "This is happening whether you're ready or not."
He pushed slowly inside, feeling the incredible tightness, the resistance. Blake really was a virgin here—no one had breached this before. The thought made Ethan's cock throb.
"Fuck..." Blake's fingers gripped the bench tightly. "Boss, this..."
"Tight?" Ethan added a second finger, slowly scissoring them open. "That's because you've never been properly opened. Let's fix that."
Ethan recalled how Blake had done it, trying to mimic the motions Blake had used when fingering him. Blake's breathing quickened, soft gasps and whimpers escaping when Ethan's fingers found his prostate and pressed.
"Fuck—Ethan—" Blake's voice cracked.
"You want my monster cock inside this virgin hole?" Ethan pulled his fingers out, letting Blake clench around emptiness. "Beg me."
Blake turned his head, meeting Ethan's eyes. "Please, Boss. Fuck me. Own me. Make me yours."
Ethan lined up his massive cock, the tip pressing against that tight entrance. He pushed forward—
And immediately hit resistance. Like hitting a wall. His cock slid up, slipping off Blake's ass instead of penetrating.
"Fuck," Ethan cursed, repositioning. His hands trembled—half excitement, half nerves. He tried again, this time steadying his shaft with his hand, pushing harder.
The head squeezed in slightly—Blake let out a muffled grunt.
He continued pushing forward, feeling that tight ring slowly, painfully forced open. Blake's body trembled, muscles tensed like steel.
Then—breakthrough.
The moment his head slipped inside, Ethan heard Blake make a sound close to a sob, Blake's firm ass cheeks clenching tight around Ethan's crown. Blake's hole was hot as fire, making Ethan feel like he might come right then.
Ethan stopped, feeling the flesh below struggle to accommodate him. He needed to adjust too—it felt too fucking good.
"Fuck... your hole's squeezing me so tight..." Ethan panted, hands roaming Blake's sweat-slicked back—those perfect muscle lines, broad shoulders, solid waist. This body that drove the entire campus wild was now impaled on his cock.
"I know..." Blake's voice trembled. "You're hung... I need time..."
Ethan forced himself to wait, though his instincts screamed to bury himself to the hilt. His hands slid to Blake's hips, kneading those firm muscles, then traveling upward—stroking Blake's athletically carved obliques, the contours of his pecs.
"This perfect jock body..." Ethan said low, voice full of possession. "It's all mine now. Your virgin ass is getting split open by this nerd's monster... How's that feel, golden boy?"
"Fuck you..." Blake gritted his teeth, but his body slowly began to relax.
Ethan felt that change—the resistance decreased slightly. He pushed in more, then more, watching his thick cock disappear inch by inch into Blake's body.
"Look at you... hockey star, campus pride... now bent over in the locker room getting fucked by me. In this place where you're supposed to be king, spreading your hole for me!"
"Yes, Boss, I'm yours..." Blake's voice held excitement mixed with strain. Ethan could feel Blake slightly twisting his butt, those words making his hole flutter.
Finally, after long, agonizing minutes, Ethan was fully buried. His pelvis pressed tight against Blake's ass, his length completely swallowed by this virgin hole.
"All the way in..." Ethan's voice rang with triumphant joy. "My 8.5 inches are all inside you. You're full of me, Blake."
Blake could only respond with broken gasps, his whole body trembling.
Ethan waited a few seconds—not out of tenderness, but because he also needed to adjust to that overwhelming tightness. Then his hands grabbed the thick straps of Blake's jockstrap, using them as handles.
"Now I'm going to fuck you," Ethan announced, then began to move.
He pulled back, then thrust forward—but it felt wrong. Ethan's movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, nothing like Blake's motions in his memory, the results were completely different—Blake always made him scream, but now Blake, beneath him, only made sounds of pained endurance.
"You know what, Blake?" Ethan said frantically, trying to mask his helplessness. "Every time you fuck me you're so proud... but look at you now... my monster's got you speechless..."
"Boss, you should—"
"I don't need you telling me what to do!" Ethan snapped irritably. He thrust a few more times, but it felt increasingly wrong. Then, during a particularly awkward stroke, he slipped out.
Completely.
All the way out.
"Fuck!" Ethan cursed in frustration, looking at his cock bouncing free, slick and glistening, no longer inside Blake.
Blake lay there panting, his stretched hole still slightly gaping. Ethan could see the pink inside.
Blake straightened up and turned around, gently, carefully, meeting Ethan's eyes. "Boss... let me help you."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." Blake guided Ethan to sit on the bench, expression patient, almost tender. "You've never topped before, have you?"
Ethan's silence was answer enough.
"It's okay." Blake straddled Ethan's thighs, hands on Ethan's shoulders. "Let me ride you. I'll control the pace, make sure you're all the way in."
Ethan felt a mix of pride and desperation. But as Blake positioned himself, slowly sinking down on Ethan's massive cock, inch by agonizing inch, all Ethan could do was grip Blake's hips and watch.
Blake's face contorted—pain, fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Sweat broke out across his chest as he took more, his virgin hole forced to accommodate Ethan's meat.
"Fuck... Boss... you're splitting me open..." Blake gasped, but he didn't stop. He kept descending until Ethan was buried to the root.
Blake remained seated, Ethan's thick 8.5-inch monster buried deep in his untouched entrance. His powerful thighs trembled from the stretch, sweat dripping down his sculpted torso, but he stayed still—just breathing through the unbearable fullness.
"Fuck... Boss... you're so deep..." Blake's voice was hoarse, his blue eyes squeezed shut.
Ethan could barely think. The sensation of being completely engulfed was beyond his imagination. Blake's undeveloped passage gripped him tight—scorching hot, impossibly tight, pulsing around every inch. This was nothing like his own ass taking Blake's average cock. This was pure, suffocating pressure, massaging his entire shaft in waves.
Ethan was completely speechless, Blake's weight pressing down on him, that choking grip making him clutch Blake's ass desperately.
"Give me a second..." Blake panted, adjusting his position slightly. Even that small shift made Ethan groan—the angle change sent sparks up his spine.
After what felt like forever, Blake finally began to move.
He started slow and deliberate—rising up until only Ethan's thick head remained inside, then quickly sinking back down. Each descent forced sharp gasps from Blake, his body struggling to accommodate the monstrous girth splitting him open.
"Jesus... Boss... you're tearing me in half..." Blake's voice cracked, but he maintained his rhythm—up, down, up, down. The wet sounds of Ethan's cock plunging into Blake's lubed hole echoed obscenely in the empty locker room.
Ethan threw his head back, completely overwhelmed. Every nerve in his cock was firing at once. The friction, the heat, the way Blake's inner walls rippled around him—sensory overload. His hands roamed desperately over Blake's body—squeezing his ass, gripping his muscular thighs, sliding up to caress Blake's abs.
The sight was intoxicating—this golden-boy jock impaling himself again and again on Ethan's giant cock, his perfect body on full display, the jockstrap framing his ass like a gift.
Then Blake shifted his position.
His socked feet planted flat on the bench, slightly changing the angle. Instead of the large, dramatic bouncing, Blake began to grind—short, tight movements, keeping Ethan fully buried while he adjusted internally, seemingly searching for something. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, mouth falling open in a silent scream.
"Fuck... fuck... Boss, you're throbbing inside me..." Blake moaned, sweat flying from his hair, his powerful legs pistoning up and down chasing pleasure, using Ethan's shaft like a toy to hammer his sweet spot repeatedly. His own cock began to harden again, leaking pre-cum. "Right there... right fucking there!"
Ethan knew he'd hit it. He tried to thrust up to match Blake's rhythm, but Blake's muscular body was too heavy, and he had no idea what to do, he could only endure Blake's fast, shallow thrusts—Blake lifting barely an inch before slamming down hard, over and over, using Ethan's monster cock to batter that sensitive spot. The motion was quick and desperate, his strong legs pumping like pistons, chasing his pleasure.
"Oh god... oh fuck... Boss... right there... don't move... don't fucking move..." Blake's voice climbed higher with each word. Ethan tried to stay still, but it was impossible. Blake's hole clenching and pulsing around him in tight waves, Blake's ass slapping against his thighs in rapid succession—it was too much.
"Just like that..." Blake coached, voice strained. "Feel how tight I am around your monster? This is what you wanted, Boss. My virgin jock ass swallowing every inch of you."
"Mine," Ethan growled possessively. "This ass is mine now. No one else touches it."
"Yours," Blake agreed, nodding. "All yours, Boss. Only yours—mmm... ahh... almost there..." Blake moaned continuously, his voice dissolving into broken pleasure sounds. His body started to tighten, that telltale sign of approaching orgasm—
But Ethan couldn't hold on.
The combination of Blake's suffocating tightness, the relentless stimulation, and the visual of Blake's perfect body bouncing on his lap—Ethan's control was completely shattered.
"FUCK!"
His orgasm hit like a freight train. His cock pulsed violently, pumping thick ropes of cum deep into Blake's virgin hole. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, his entire body seizing up as he emptied himself.
But as his cock began to soften, it slipped out.
Without enough rigidity to maintain penetration, Ethan's still-spurting cock pulled free with a wet pop. The last few spurts of cum splattered across Blake's ass and thighs.
Blake froze mid-motion, his body still trembling on the edge of orgasm.
Ethan's brain went blank. Post-orgasm fog mixed with crushing realization—
He'd finished.
He was out.
That orgasm had been incredible—maybe the most intense physical sensation he'd ever experienced. Blake's virgin hole squeezing him, that suffocating tightness, that heat—fuck, it had felt amazing. Watching his monster cock disappear into Blake's perfect ass, seeing this golden jock split open on his length, hearing him gasp and moan—
It should have been everything.
Blake remained frozen above him, chest heaving, his cock still rock-hard and angry red, leaking in frustration. Ethan had just taken Blake's anal virginity, marked him, claimed him in the most primal way—and yet...
Something was missing.
Not just that Blake hadn't cum. Something deeper, something Ethan couldn't name. When Blake fucked him—when that average-sized but perfectly angled cock pounded into his prostate again and again—that feeling was different. It was sustained, building, wave after wave of pleasure radiating through his entire body. It made his brain short-circuit. It made him need it.
This? This was intense, yes. The tightness, the visual, the power trip—all of it was incredible.
But it was also... over.
Just... over.
Like a firework that exploded brilliantly and then left only smoke.
Ethan looked up at Blake's flushed face, his dry lips, his body trembling from the stretch, his hole ruined from Ethan's girth. That sight alone was worth it—seeing Blake split open, conquered, marked. Knowing that Ethan's cock had been there, had claimed something no one else had.
Yeah. That part was fucking worth it.
But the hollowness remained, settling in his chest like a weight.
"How did it... feel?" Ethan asked, hating how uncertain he sounded.
Blake nodded, wincing painfully, catching his breath. "Yeah, intense. You... you're fucking huge, Boss. I felt every inch."
Ethan's jaw tightened. He could hear the frustration and unfulfilled desire in Blake's voice. He'd been so sure—so fucking sure—that being the top, having the bigger dick, dominating Blake would be the ultimate satisfaction.
"Boss..." Blake's voice was almost a whisper.
"Yeah?"
Blake looked up, meeting Ethan's eyes. There was something vulnerable there, something raw, a wild gleam, something that needed payback.
"My turn," Blake growled, suddenly pulling Ethan up and shoving him toward the metal lockers.
"Blake—"
"Shut up, Boss." Blake's voice held dark pleasure. "My balls are blue as fuck because of you. You're gonna fix this."
Understanding flashed in Ethan's eyes, followed immediately by panic. "Wait, Blake, I just—"
"I don't care." Blake pressed against Ethan, reaching out to grip his jaw firmly. "You wanted to dominate me, Boss? You wanted to split me open with that monster? Fine. You did it. You stretched my virgin hole, filled me with cum. Congratulations."
His thumb pressed into Ethan's lower lip, forcing his mouth open slightly.
"But you left me empty. And I don't leave my partners unsatisfied."
"Blake..."
He released Ethan's jaw and roughly spun him around, pressing his chest against the cold metal lockers.
"There's plenty of Vaseline left," Blake said, positioning himself behind Ethan. His rock-hard, tireless jock cock pressed against Ethan's ass. "And you're going to help me finish what you couldn't."
"Wait, today was supposed to be—" Ethan protested weakly, but his ass was already instinctively pushing back.
Blake leaned in close, lips brushing Ethan's ear. "Now spread your legs. I want to fill that hole that belongs to me."
Blake's jock hands gripped Ethan's hips, and he thrust forward—burying his thick, average-length cock deep into Ethan's ass in one smooth stroke.
"FUCK!" Ethan cried out, hands slapping against the lockers. This was revenge fucking—Blake striking back for the burning in his ass, for the vulnerability Ethan had forced him to expose.
"That's right," Blake growled, already establishing a brutal rhythm. "Boss, this is how you fuck someone. Not just in and out until you cum. You own them. You make them feel every inch."
Blake proved it—each thrust precisely angled to nail Ethan's prostate, the one Blake had claimed and trained so many times before. Unlike Ethan's fumbling attempts, Blake's movements were practiced, controlled, devastating.
"Oh god... Blake... Blake!" Ethan's voice broke as that familiar, overwhelming pleasure crashed through him.
After slamming Ethan's face against the lockers several times, Blake pulled Ethan's head toward him, and they kissed messily.
Finally, when Ethan was already swaying, barely able to think, Blake sat back on the bench, legs spread, jockstrap pulled aside, but the straps still framing his sweat-slicked thighs, and Ethan sat on Blake's lap, sinking down onto Blake's cock. The angle felt different this way—deeper, more intense. When he was fully seated, Blake's cock buried completely inside him, Ethan let out a broken moan.
"Good boy," Blake murmured, one arm wrapping around Ethan's waist to hold him in place. "Now ride me. Show me how much you need this."
Ethan, dizzy and trembling, straddled him, back to Blake, sinking down again on that tireless cock. Each descent sent sparks through his nervous system, Blake's cock hitting that perfect spot over and over. His own dick was half-hard, bouncing against his stomach.
Blake's free hand roamed Ethan's body—squeezing his chest, pinching his nipples, trailing down his stomach. But Ethan's hands had nowhere to go except to grip Blake's thighs for support.
In his dazed, pleasure-drunk state, Ethan's fingers slid down Blake's powerful quads, following the muscle definition and sheen of sweat. His touch wandered lower, along the inside of Blake's thighs, until—
His fingertips brushed something wet, swollen, hypersensitive.
Blake's hole.
Still stretched. Still leaking Ethan's cum and Vaseline. Still radiating heat from being split open by Ethan's cock, the freshly destroyed hole.
Ethan pushed in one finger, feeling the warmth grip around him, that sticky sensation evidence of his earlier possession.
"Boss?" Blake's voice was strained. "What are you—"
Ethan pressed his finger against Blake's entrance, feeling how puffy and tender it was. Blake's entire body tensed, his grip on Ethan's waist tightening.
"Fuck—" Blake hissed.
But Ethan didn't stop. Almost hypnotized, he slowly pushed his finger inside.
The sensation was overwhelming—hot, unbelievably soft and slick with his own cum, still loose enough from the brutal stretching to accept the intrusion easily. He could feel Blake's inner walls fluttering, oversensitive and abused.
"Boss..." Blake's voice cracked, his hips jerking involuntarily. The movement drove his cock deeper into Ethan, making them both gasp.
Ethan added a second finger, exploring the damage he'd caused. Blake's hole clenched weakly around his fingers, still trying to recover from being forced open by something much, much larger.
"Does it hurt?" Ethan asked.
"Yes," Blake groaned, his cock pulsing inside Ethan. "Burns like hell. You fucking wrecked me."
Something dark and possessive stirred in Ethan's chest. He had done this. This was his mark.
He curled his fingers, searching, until Blake's body jolted violently.
"FUCK! Don't—that's—" Blake's words dissolved into incoherent moaning.
Ethan had found Blake's prostate from the other side.
That was enough. Blake's eyes went wild, a primal moan tearing from his throat, the dual sensation—filling Ethan while being explored—pushing him to the edge of madness. His rhythm faltered, hips bucking irregularly, cock swelling inside Ethan. "Fuck—don't stop—ah, Boss..." He was coming apart, the stretch in his ass amplifying every thrust, raw and overwhelming. Ethan's fingers curved, hitting Blake's prostate, and the athlete jolted like he'd been electrocuted, pounding harder as if trying to reclaim control.
The bench groaned beneath them, the locker room filled with wet slapping sounds and desperate cries.
Blake tried to hold on, but Ethan's fingers—slick in the warmth of his freshly fucked hole—curled and stroked, sending tremors shooting through his body. His cock was still buried deep in Ethan's ass, the clenching heat around him blanking his mind. Each time Ethan's fingers grazed his prostate from inside, Blake's hips bucked, rhythm breaking, a shattered moan ripping from his throat.
Ethan's fingers pushed deeper, stretching Blake's used hole, the thought of his huge cock having been there, owning Blake's virgin ass, thrilling him even as Blake's devastatingly skilled cock continued hammering his prostate.
Blake's thrusts became erratic, desperately pounding into Ethan, but Ethan matched him, scissoring Blake's tender entrance. The stretch made Blake's knees weak, the locker room echoing with the wet slap of skin and their ragged breathing.
"Boss—god, Boss—" Blake's confident jock facade shattered. His face flushed crimson, sweat dripping down his temples, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as Ethan's fingers found their rhythm—in and out, mirroring the brutal pace of Blake's cock inside him. "I'm gonna—fuck, I'm gonna—"
"Not yet." Ethan growled.
Blake whimpered in response—a sound so primal and submissive it made Ethan's own desire spike. He twisted his fingers inside Blake, pressing hard, and Blake sobbed, hips jerking violently forward, burying himself to the root in Ethan's ass.
"Please—" Blake's voice was barely a whisper, his body trembling like a live wire. "Please, Boss, I need—I need—"
"What do you need?" Ethan demanded, adding a third finger, the stretch making Blake cry out. Blake's thighs spread wider, the jockstrap straps soaked with pre-cum and sweat digging into his skin. "Say it."
"I need to cum!" Blake's voice broke on the last word, desperation bleeding through. "Please let me cum, Boss, I can't take it—"
Ethan's sadistic smile widened. He could feel Blake's cock swelling inside him, that telltale pulse signaling he was right on the edge. Fingers twisting viciously, right against Blake's prostate, he whispered, "Then cum for me. Fill me up while I'm inside you."
Blake's body convulsed. His cock erupted inside Ethan, hot ropes flooding Ethan's already wrecked hole, his own ass clenching around Ethan's fingers. The orgasm tore through him from both ends—too much. Blake collapsed forward, burying his face in Ethan's neck, his cries muffled against sweat-slicked skin as he trembled apart.
They stayed locked together, panting, Ethan's fingers still buried in Blake's sensitive hole, Blake's cock still buried in Ethan's ass.
Neither wanted to move. They still want to feel this moment.
But that probably won't work.
Then they finally noticed the figure standing in the locker room doorway—
Terry stumbled under the sickly glow of streetlights, his shadow stretching and warping on the cracked pavement of the off-campus housing district, heading toward the shitty apartment he shared with his girlfriend. Cheap vodka mixed with Marcus's high-grade hybrid made the world spin in nauseating, detached loops. He caught a glimpse of himself in a dark shop window—hollow cheeks, bloodshot eyes, slack jaw. He looked like typical white trash.
How did it get this bad? The question gnawed at him like a knife.
It started with the money. It wasn't that his scholarship had hit zero, but the structure had changed. Adrian and Coach Brennan's "New Era" converted the previously equal distribution of booster funds into goddamn competition. His base scholarship still covered tuition, sure, but he's not quite as well off as before. The "athletic prizes" that let players live like kings? Those were now locked behind ice time, goals, and defensive metrics.
For a benchwarmer like Terry with minimal playing time, the difference between his "base salary" and those fat scholarships was a chasm he couldn't bridge.
So he'd crawled on his belly to Colton's feet. He'd thought maybe there he'd find his place, gain some power and respect. But even among Colton's crew, Terry was a bottom-feeder. He was the one they mocked, the one who did the grunt work while Colton and Marcus reaped the benefits.
To buy his way in—to matter at all—he'd made the worst decision of his life. He told those guys they could... access Kaylee. His girlfriend. "Whatever, bro," he'd said with a dry laugh that made him want to vomit. "We're just open like that."
The look in their eyes when he'd said it—hunger, mockery, predation—should've been his warning. But he was already gone, drowning in the cheap liquor and cheap weed Marcus kept feeding him. It numbed his shame. Mostly.
Then he'd gone all-in, proposing the warehouse assault on Adrian to prove he still had some value. But that had gone completely off the rails.
When they'd stripped Adrian, Terry hadn't laughed. He'd frozen. Staring at Adrian's thick, heavy cock swinging between his thighs, Terry hadn't felt dominance—he'd felt a pathetic, trembling urge to kneel. He'd been mesmerized by the sheer alpha power radiating from it, and the boys—Colton, Marcus, Gerhard—they saw it. They saw him gaping like a starving dog. Now he wasn't just a benchwarmer; he was the faggot who got hard staring at the captain's dick.
Tonight's Frozen Four celebration was just another reminder of his irrelevance. He'd shown face at Brennan's, then dragged himself to Colton's crew's after-party, where Colton and Marcus reigned as kings and Terry was just... furniture.
He shoved his key into the apartment door, metal scraping loudly in the quiet hallway. Inside was cold and dark, but down the hall, the bedroom door was half-open, warm orange light spilling into the darkness.
He heard a woman moaning. Kaylee.
Terry's stomach churned. Who is it this time? Colton? Gerhard? Maybe Marcus, though unlikely—Marcus only got off on pain and humiliation, not actual pleasure. And Colton was too selfish, too rough. But these sounds... Kaylee sounded happy. Even ecstatic. That choking joy he hadn't heard in months.
Terry felt only numbness as his feet carried him automatically down the short hallway toward the bedroom. The door was half-open, amber light cutting through the dark.
Kaylee was on all fours on the bed, pale skin flushed and glistening with sweat. Her back arched beautifully, head thrown back, face full of bliss. Behind her, strong dark hands gripped her hips tightly, a muscular Black body thrusting into her with steady, powerful rhythm.
"Oh god—yes—yes—" Kaylee gasped, voice trembling with pleasure. "You're so good! Eric, right there—fuck—"
Terry stood frozen in the doorway, drugs making his brain sluggish, struggling to process the scene.
Eric's body was a work of art. Lean muscle lines flow smoothly, each thrust precise and powerful. His profile was visible, expression focused yet tender. He bent down, trailing kisses along Kaylee's spine, making her moan softly with pleasure.
"Don't stop," Kaylee begged, pushing back against him. "Please don't stop—I'm so close—"
Terry's hands hung uselessly at his sides. He should feel anger, betrayal, something. But he just stood there numbly, his alcohol-eroded brain struggling to understand.
Then a strong arm wrapped around his neck from behind. He smelled it first—clean sweat, expensive cologne, and something else. Something overwhelmingly male.
"You're hard, Terry."
Adrian's voice was low and intimate, hot breath against Terry's ear. Terry's body went rigid. He hadn't even realized—but yes, his pathetic dick was straining against his jeans.
"All that shit you said about Eric in the warehouse," Adrian continued, tightening his grip. "Calling him a bitch, laughing at him. Look at your girl now."
Terry's eyes were forced back to the bed.
"She's never looked like that for you, has she?" Adrian's lips were almost touching Terry's ear. "And you're getting hard watching it."
Terry felt his knees weakening. Adrian is behind him, that heavy alpha presence, the masculinity and big dick energy pressing against his back.
"You know your place, don't you?" Adrian whispered. "You've known since the warehouse. Since you couldn't stop staring."
"I... I didn't..." Terry's voice came out strangled, weak.
Adrian's free hand moved to Terry's shoulder, pressing down with authority. "You're a bottom-feeder who only knows these kinds of tactics, but I know where you belong."
The pressure on Terry's shoulder increased. His legs began shaking, threatening to give out.
"Adrian..." It came out as a whimper.
Adrian turned Terry's head toward him. Terry saw Adrian's hard, commanding, beautiful face. And lower—Adrian was almost naked, that white compression underwear bulging obscenely, massive and unmistakable, the same terrifying size that had broken Terry's mind in the warehouse.
"You know what you need to do."
It wasn't a question.
Terry's knees hit the carpet. He didn't remember deciding to kneel—his body just moved, obeying an instinct deeper than thought. His hands trembled as they reached for Adrian's hung.
"Good boy," Adrian said.
**TBC**
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