Copyright by Marathon Brad, 2026, permission given to GayDemon to reprint this story. It may not be copied to another website without prior approval from the author.
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With the spring semester over and June only a few days away, I had no plans to return to the States from Bucharest until mid-July. That made me the perfect candidate to volunteer as one of the faculty advisors for a university-sponsored students’ trip exploring ancient Greek sites. Most of the students enrolled in the Classical Studies course were athletes, guys I already worked with as part of the physical education program. I had trained them, stretched them, helped them rehab injuries and manage their class schedules. I was comfortable with them, and they were used to me.
A luxury charter bus waited outside our all-male Prima Universitate Internațională de Atletism’s campus just before 6 AM, sleek, white, and humming softly in the quiet street. The bus was far nicer than I expected. The dark tinted windows could shift from daylight to complete blackout. The polished black trim and the scent of new carpet were a great touch. Every row had deep leather seats, armrests, and footrests. The cabin lights were dim, almost gold, and the floor was spotless. The bus felt like a private jet on wheels. Quiet music played low through the speakers, something chill and instrumental.
I stood by the curb with a clipboard, reading off seat assignments as the student-athletes filed onto the bus one by one. The early morning sun hit the pavement, and I felt my tight white staff tee cling to my chest. Thinking ahead to the summer warmth in Greece, I chose to wear white shorts, cut high from lightweight, breathable fabric, no liner, designed for the intense sun and long days of walking through ancient ruins. They hugged my hips, feeling as light and free as possible. I made a somewhat bold statement and wore no underwear. The breeze teased my bare skin as I moved. Showing off was never my goal. I simply liked to keep things light when I traveled. And besides, it was going to be a long day on the road.
And then I met the driver.
He stepped out from the front of the bus to help load bags. He was a bit taller than me, maybe six feet, with an athletic build under a tailored black polo. His arms were toned, and he moved with confidence. His hair was short and dark, cut close. A neatly trimmed beard. Deep, tan skin. Mid-forties, maybe.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth, accented with something I could not place. Not Romanian. Not quite Greek, either. Something strong. Slower. Balkan, maybe. Slavic?
I paused. “Morning,” I said, catching myself before I stared too long.
“You are one of the staff members on board?” he asked, lifting a gym bag easily into the luggage bay.
“Yeah. Physical education. I am also the newly announced wrestling coach.”
“My name is Arben,” he said.
“I am Brad,” I replied.
His eyes moved slowly down my body. My shorts. My legs.
“Lucky athletes,” he said with a small smile.
I did not respond. Just swallowed and turned to my clipboard. This man was going to be a distraction.
As he leaned against the bus frame, he gave me a slow, appreciative look. His biceps pressed firmly against the fabric of his polo sleeves. Every now and then, I caught him watching me when he thought I was not looking. He told me he was Albanian.
Arben’s eyes continued to skim down my thighs and pause, clearly appreciating the way my shorts clung to me. He leaned in slightly and said, “You are really dressed for the warm summer temperatures, huh?” Then his eyes lifted to meet mine. “Bold look… not that I am complaining.”
I laughed softly, trying not to blush. “I did not think my shorts would get quite this much attention.”
He raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “You thought wrong.”
As the last of the boys boarded, I called out the final seat assignments. When I reached George's name, I hesitated for a moment, just enough to make it awkward. “George, you are assigned to the front row window seat,” I said, my voice breaking up a bit. “I will be sitting beside you.”
George, the handsome and talented soccer star from Prague, stepped toward the bus, youthful in his tight black sleeveless compression shirt. I was used to seeing him in soccer shorts, and this morning was no different. His black pair had an inseam so short they barely covered his thighs. His skin had a warm glow from a fresh shower, and his hair looked untidily styled, though I knew it was intentional. With an easy confidence, he climbed the bus steps.
“Morning, Professor.”
I briefly met his eyes. “Morning,” I said. “You are in seat 1A. Window.”
He just smiled and stepped up onto the bus. No comment. No hurry.
Everything about George was effortless. The soft tone of his youthful skin caught the light. His body was even more defined since that photo shoot several weeks ago, when he had seduced me with more than just the camera. This morning, he was clearly amused by the awkward way I had assigned him his seat. “Perfect seat choice,” he said softly, brushing my arm as he climbed the steps. “You sure you will be able to focus with me beside you?”
I blushed, leaving me unable to answer.
One by one, the remaining students finished boarding the bus, most of them dragging their bags half-awake. Loose tanks, short shorts, compression sleeves still rolled down. Some wore stylish hoodies, but underneath were always those lean, tight muscles of college male athletes built for speed and power. One of the track sprinters wore a thin white mesh shirt with nothing underneath, his chest visible through the fabric like he was not even trying to hide it. This was starting out as a very interesting trip.
I boarded, clipboard tucked under my arm.
George had slid smoothly into the window seat that I assigned him, continuing to give me that knowing smirk as he settled in. I sat in the seat beside him. The rows of seats directly behind us began to fill with backpacks, duffels, pillows, and tangled earbuds, carelessly tossed by the guys as they claimed their assigned seats further back. Without saying anything, a kind of barrier formed: three full rows of clutter. The bus itself seemed to give the front row a small bit of privacy, shielding us from view of the other riders.
Right away, I felt George's thigh resting against mine. Warm. Solid. Relaxed.
Finally, Tommy boarded, his frame filling the aisle as he stepped on. My stomach tightened when his eyes looked me over. I tugged at the hem of my shorts and shifted in my seat.
The blond upperclassman baseball player had transferred from LSU. A few years older than George. He wore a sleeveless hoodie that was cut open dangerously low on both sides, revealing his muscled chest and narrowed waist.
“Professor,” he called out. “Room for one more?”
I nodded toward the seat across the aisle from me. “Yes. Right there is your assigned seat.”
Tommy tossed his bag onto the window seat and sat down with a grin, stretching his long legs into the aisle. His thighs were strong, built from baseball training, and the shape of his cock was visibly shifting inside his thin fabric white gym shorts. He caught me looking, smiled and winked at me.
“Congratulations on becoming the school's head wrestling coach, Professor,” Tommy said. “I was happy to hear about the news.”
“Thank you, Tommy. I am still getting used to the idea myself. You boys all good with your seats?” I asked.
George grinned at Tommy and said, “Better now.” He had not shifted since he sat down. His thigh stayed firmly against mine as the hem of his shorts stretched tight over his thigh muscle.
I then watched Arben climb into the driver’s seat, his strong muscled back stretching the fabric of his polo. The sleeves clung to his biceps, comfortably shifting his upper body frame as he adjusted the mirrors, not just for driving, but to clearly give himself a better angle on me.
I was beginning to believe this bus ride to Athens was not going to be easy. Eight hours on the road, with George beside me and Tommy on the other side. And a driver who kept meeting my eyes in the mirror, like he already knew what kind of man I was under this tight white shirt. The ride was going to be cozy. Tense.
We crossed into Bulgaria quickly since the border was not far from Bucharest. The summer heat coming through the tinted windows made the back of my thighs stick to the leather seat, and when I shifted, my light, paper-thin shorts clung even tighter to my skin. Wearing no underwear made me too aware of how much I was showing while sitting within eye view of George, Tommy… and Arben.
The boys had fallen into a quick sleep shortly after our departure. George lay stretched beside me, one leg angled away while the other remained casually pressed against mine, the warmth of his body close against me. On my other side, Tommy dozed with one arm draped casually over the top of my seat. His fingers moved now and then, brushing at the back of my neck.
About two hours into the ride, I noticed the small spotlight above the driver’s panel area move, the light beam sliding slowly and quietly until it stopped directly on my shorts’ bulge. I felt the heat of the light on my skin, even through the fabric of my shorts. Arben held the beam steady, outlining the shape of my cock so clearly that I felt exposed.
My body tensed. I sat still, frozen in place, knowing this was not accidental. Arben had aimed the light with care. He wanted my shorts lit up, locking me in the light’s circle. The attention made me feel as though I was being shown off, with nothing left to hide.
I lifted my eyes to his mirror. His gaze was already waiting for mine. He did not look away. The corners of his mouth turned just enough to show he enjoyed what he saw, approval, almost like a secret smile. Then, with a small shift of his hand, he adjusted the beam even tighter, pinning me even more in the spotlight, holding me there for him to enjoy.
The longer the spotlight stayed, the less private I felt. George stirred beside me, his eyes flicking down, catching the light on my lap. His look lingered, his jaw tightening as though he was holding back a grin. Slowly, his knee shifted until it pressed against mine even more. He left it there, warm and deliberate, then pushed in a fraction more as though testing whether I would move.
On my other side, Tommy stirred too. His glance had been quick at first, but when he realized what the light exposed, his mouth curved into a knowing smirk. His arm slipped lower along the back of my seat, fingers now rubbing my shoulder. When Tommy’s eyes met mine, he had a determined stare, a quiet suggestion that dared me not to move.
Minutes stretched. Arben’s reflection stayed fixed in the mirror, his eyes never leaving me, as if the spotlight itself was his hand keeping me in place.
George leaned in toward me, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You know he is doing this for us, don’t you?” His words sent a shiver through me, more intimate than his touch.
Tommy had a soft giggle and added, “He sure is and the strategy is very hot.”
My shorts glowed white in the spotlight, every curve outlined, the shape of my now wet, hard cock impossible to miss. I froze as George and Tommy shifted in their seats, drawn to possibly the only thing left illuminated on the quiet bus.
George continued to whisper, “The bus driver wants us to see it all.”
Tommy smirked, his fingers brushing down my arm. “Does not look like our professor minds being the show,” he teasingly whispered to George, acting as if I could not hear.
George continued, “Look at Professor sit so still, like he knows he is supposed to.”
Their voices circled me, George on one side, Tommy on the other, trading quiet remarks as the light held me in place. Each word made me more aware of my fully erect leaking cock, of the tightness of my shorts, of the eyes on me.
George turned his body toward me, slow and steady, moving until our sides touched. His eyes dropped to my shorts, staring at the shape of my cock under the thin cloth. Boldly, he used his right hand’s fingers to trace along my cock’s hard line, light and careful, like he wanted to remember every curve. His touch kept me stiff, the tip wet, spreading the damp precum spot wider with each brush. I looked up into the mirror and saw Arben watching. His calm nod told George to keep going. My student’s fingers moved with more care, showing me off on purpose for the driver.
George did not rush. For several long minutes, he kept tracing me through the thin fabric, his fingers drawing out every twitch, every leak, making sure I stayed hard and wet for him. Each stroke over the outline felt like its own command, stay stiff, stay ready, stay displayed.
Then, abrupt and daring, George slipped his right hand inside the loose leg of my shorts. The move was quick, almost sly, as if he meant it to look casual. His palm wrapped around my hard cock with clear intent, claiming what he had only outlined before. From the corner of my eye, I caught Tommy watching the move, his smirk sharper now. I was their professor, yet the one these two handsome college boys desired. My athletic body was being shown off, being played with by George.
George began to slowly stroke my wet cock, his thumb grazing the tip while his grip worked my length. In the mirror, Arben’s eyes stayed fixed on us as George’s touch made it clear, I was his to play with.
Tommy followed George’s lead and turned his body toward me, closing in until I was caught between them. Their shoulders narrowed the space, framing me in place. The spotlight still clung to my lap, catching the steady motion of George’s hand. Tommy smirked and leaned in closer, giving George a quick look before turning back to me. They were working together, one stroking, the other pressing in, both making sure I stayed hard, revealed, and kept in place for them.
And in the mirror, Arben watched like a coach on the sideline, silent but in charge, his expression guiding every move without a word. It felt as though the three of them were in sync: Arben directing, George and Tommy carrying it out, and me caught in the middle, unable to resist, embarrassed by how easily they handled me.
George leaned in closer, his grip tightening, his thumb sliding over the head and spreading my precum.
Even though I stayed still, I could not hide how my body was reacting to George’s intent. My breathing grew louder. My cock leaked freely, wetting his grip. The rest of the bus had no idea, while up front I was trapped in this quiet game, exhibited in the light, Arben watching it all.
And then it built higher. George’s strokes became more persistent, his thumb pressing over the head until my hips twitched. Tommy leaned closer to my face, his smirk daring me to give in. They worked me together, George with his hand, Tommy with his stare, pressing me from both sides, holding me in place so I could not resist.
The spotlight pinned me. Heat spread across my shorts, showing every twitch, every pulse. My chest rose hard as George’s hand moved, unrelenting, coaxing me further.
And then everything reached its peak. As my cock leaked faster, the wetness slicked George’s movement until I could not hold anything back. Tommy watched, teasing with his eyes as George’s grip grew steady and stronger. Together they pushed me until I could not hold still.
My breath caught, my legs trembled, my body shook, and in the narrow beam of Arben’s light I finally gave in. I spilled in front of them, shown off, exposed, exactly the way Arben wanted me. My cum exploded out of me, filling George’s hand and leaking down onto my thighs. All of us saw my white milky seed ooze through the fabric of my shorts.
The front of the bus went quiet, the air thick. George’s hand eased but did not let go, his fingers still wet with my cum. Tommy leaned back, his smile fading into something softer, almost proud. In the mirror, Arben’s eyes stayed fixed on me, filled with quiet satisfaction, savoring every second.
I stayed frozen between them, chest rising hard, my body tired and used, the spotlight still holding me. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be. At last the light slid away, drifting back to the driver’s panel.
George finally slid his hand out, his fingers slick from me, smearing my seed across the outside of my shorts as if it were nothing at all. Tommy stretched deliberately beside me, his shoulder pressing into mine one last time, firm, as if to remind me I was his too, before he looked straight ahead again.
The bus kept rolling through Bulgaria toward our halfway stop in Sofia. The rest of the athletes laughed and talked in the back, unaware. But I sat with cum soaked into the material of my shorts. The dampness clung to me, a constant reminder of what had just happened under the spotlight. Every shift in my seat pressed it deeper, making me feel marked and unable to hide the situation. Arben's approving smile in the mirror told me everything. What had just happened would not be forgotten. I had been shown off, presented exactly the way he wanted.
And yet George and Tommy smelled like young athletes at their best, fresh shampoo, clean deodorant, a hint of cologne clinging to their warm skin. My scent was different. I carried the smell of cum. The contrast between us was impossible not to miss.
From the front, it was clear Arben wanted me right there in my state, messy and exposed. If anything, it was only a preview. The night ahead waited, and I knew George would not stop at this.
We reached Sofia for lunch by late morning. Arben pulled into a quiet side street lined with cafés, rainbow flags swaying discreetly along balconies and doorways. I think our driver had unknowingly stopped in one of Sofia’s gay neighborhoods, and it was immediately clear the area had an athletic pulse. The sidewalks were dotted with well-built men fresh from the gym down the block, tight-fitting tank tops, compression shorts and sweatpants. Their skin shined with sweat from their recent workouts.
As the bus door opened, the reaction from the neighborhood was immediate. The sight of our tour group, about twenty fit, in-shape college athletes, most from across Europe but with a few from the States, was enough to turn heads. Our students had clean haircuts, fitted athletic clothing, and the easy confidence of college-aged men at their physical peak. We must have been a surprise to this quiet corner, stepping off one by one like a squad of competition-ready hunks. A man leaning against a bike rack smirked, eyes glancing before settling on George.
George looked like he could own the sidewalk, youthful broad-shoulders, bronzed, his clothing hugging him in all the right places. His black soccer shorts left no doubt about the power in his legs. George was the kind of young man who could have stepped off the cover of any sports magazine, an attractive Czech forward who had quickly become a campus icon in the soccer world.
Just weeks earlier a well-known photographer had done a photo shoot on our campus with George, capturing his physique in a way that was both athletic and undeniably sensual. Those images were later sent to a glossy national magazine in the Czech Republic, where George’s spread was hailed as one of the most suggestive features of the year. His rise to stardom had been fast, his talent undisputed, and his looks… impossible to ignore.
George had grabbed my arm and quickly led me across the street, past tables of gym-bodied locals sipping iced drinks, their eyes following us. I used the clipboard to hide my cum-stained shorts.
As we reached the sleek outdoor café shaded by trees, George picked two high stools at the street-facing counter and patted one. “Please sit, Professor.”
George had been discreet about him and me around the other student athletes, careful not to show too much. He had easily learned how to take advantage of any moment he could when he had me alone.
I climbed up and placed the clipboard on the counter, my thighs spreading over the seat as my tiny shorts rode even higher. George sat beside me, legs spread comfortably around the side of my stool, one arm draped behind my chair. His posture was relaxed. The combination of his bronzed skin, snug soccer shorts, casual flip-flops, and muscled thighs drew steady glimpses from others.
A young athletic barista approached, eyes moving between us with an appreciative smile. “Espresso?” George said.
“Same,” I replied.
“And two grilled chicken sandwiches,” George added without looking at the menu. “We will eat them here.”
As the barista walked away, George leaned toward me. “You see how they are looking?”
“I think they are looking at you,” I said.
“Maybe,” he said with a grin. “Or maybe they are wondering what it is like to be right here next to you, Professor.”
His fingers brushed my inner thigh, slow and deliberate.
I did not know how I could stop George after what he caused me to do on the bus. In this moment, it felt like I belonged to him.
George’s eyes stayed locked on mine, the corner of his mouth curling slightly as his fingertips traced patterns as he moved higher up my thigh. “You are warm,” he said quietly. “And anxious.”
I swallowed. “The other customers are watching.”
“That is what makes it better,” he replied, his hand still moving. “They cannot hear us, but they can see enough to wonder.”
Another set of men in only their gym workout shorts passed behind us, their heads turning mid-step to notice how George’s arm was slung and his hand was resting far too high on my leg. One of them smiled before they moved on.
George leaned in, his breath warm on my ear. “I could sit here all day and keep you like this. You are the most handsome professor in the athletic department, and everyone knows it. Men in Bucharest talk about you, how good you look; how fit you are. But none of them get to sit this close. None of them have touched you like I have.”
He gave me a small squeeze, his thumb brushing against the edge of my stained shorts. “We still have a long ride to Athens, and I may not be finished with you yet.”
Our sandwiches arrived a moment later, warm and fresh. George took a slow bite, his eyes never leaving mine. “Drink and eat, Professor,” he said with a smirk. “You will need your strength.”
I picked up my cup, my pulse still quickly beating, and reached for my sandwich, knowing exactly what he meant.
After finishing lunch, we stepped back into the midday heat. George stopped on the sidewalk, hooking his thumbs under the hem of his sleeveless top. “Too warm out here,” he said, peeling his shirt off and tossing it over his shoulder. Tommy had found us and followed George’s lead, pulling his tank up and over his head in an easy stretch that made his abs flex.
Both stood bare-chested, their bodies catching the light, youthful, tanned, and lean, before heading toward the bus. Another group of young Bulgarian men paused their conversation to stare openly. One of them smirked, saying something that made the others glance down at the boys’ shorts.
When we climbed back on the bus, Arben said we still had four hours before Athens. To soften the glare of the afternoon sun, he darkened the windows, giving the cabin a more intimate feel. After our lunch stop, the air on the bus seemed to buzz with fresh energy.
From the moment the bus pulled away, George leaned his seat way back, remaining bare-chested, arms behind his head and legs spread wide. With each sway of the bus, his thigh pressed against mine. A light caught his shoulders and the sight of his chest hair.
Tommy stood to grab his bag from the overhead. He moved slowly, appearing to stretch on purpose, long enough for my eyes to follow every inch of his torso. His shorts clung in all the right places, showing his build. When he sat again, he shifted his legs wide in his seat as well, chest and shoulders angled to take up space.
The low hum of the engine was joined by music, slow, steady, with a deep bass that made the air feel a bit erotic. George turned his face toward me, telling me in a calm, steady voice what he hoped to do with me in Athens. Each word made my pulse race.
For the rest of the ride, my body stayed exposed, a silent reminder of what had just happened. George tilted my seat back the same way as his, under the excuse of comfort, though it left me stretched out. Tommy leaned forward on his elbows, pretending to watch the road, but his eyes always fell back to my lap. And Arben, steady at the wheel, kept one hand near the mirror, his calm expression making it clear he was still in control.
By the time we pulled up to our hotel, the early evening light made the front of the building glow orange-gold. We were near the historic neighborhood of Plaka as the bus came to a stop beside a stone terrace lined with palms and old lampposts. I stepped down onto the pavement with George and Tommy and we immediately caught men’s eyes. The other college staff lingered behind with the rest of the athletes, still unloading gear and sorting luggage. They were busy talking, counting heads, and making plans, which meant they were not directly following us into the hotel.
George and Tommy seized the moment, moving me ahead of the others as if they had been waiting for this chance to parade me forward. Both were still bare-chested from the ride, their chests lit by the fading sun. George walked a step in front of me with a slow, confident swagger, cutting a clear path. Tommy stayed close at my side, his bicep brushing mine every few strides, one hand pressed low on my back. I allowed this handsome American student athlete to guide me like he wanted everyone watching to know I belonged between the two boys.
The glass doors parted and we felt the cool lobby air as we entered. Marble floors stretched out in front of us, high ceilings soared above, and polished brass fixtures shined in the bright lights. But it was not the building's beautiful lobby that we saw. It was the many eyes.
The front desk clerk paused, his pen suspended in the air. A pair of older men sitting in leather chairs near the window stopped talking, their stare fixed as the three of us crossed the room. Even the bellman froze for a second, his gloved hand resting on a brass cart, eyes following the way George led, Tommy steered, and I was kept between them. With all of this attention, my cock easily grew hard again.
Every step forward by the boys felt like I was being presented to the hotel staff and guests. They did not need to speak; their eyes told me everything. I was the one being offered, the one lit up, the center of the entrance. I blushed as my stiff cock was being seen as eyes dropped straight to my legs and my clingy cum-stained white shorts.
As we approached the front desk, I heard a soft sigh from the clerk.
“Coach,” Tommy said under his breath as he stood beside me, “you know everyone is looking at you, right?”
"No, they are not," I muttered.
“Mhm,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Those tight shorts of yours. From the front you look worked up and from the back your ass is showing off for everyone. Strong, full… you look like dessert.”
My face flushed red, not able to bring myself to answer.
I leaned in slightly at the desk, my voice steady but my pulse now rapid. “We are the college athletes from Prima Universitate Internațională de Atletism in Bucharest,” I told the young man behind the counter. “We have arrived and will be staying here for the next three evenings.”
He nodded, his eyes dropping briefly to my stained shorts and stiff outlined cock. As I reached for the check-in forms, Tommy pressed close behind me, his fingers mischievously slipping over the back of my shorts’ waistband and tugging it down just enough to uncover the top curve of my wrestler’s bubble butt. I remained too focused on filling out the paperwork to be able to stop him, but Tommy’s move was obvious for anyone standing nearby. In the mirrored wall behind the desk, I caught the reflection of several men, their looks fixed on my exposed upper glutes.
George leaned an elbow on the counter, his body twisting so his exposed abs were in full view as I finished our check in. We had become a sight for all eyes to take in.
After registration of the entire group, we walked past the base of the staircase where a police officer stood viewing, his chest broad, forearms thick and tan. George greeted him in broken Greek, tapping him on the shoulder like they knew each other. We watched the officer’s eyes drop straight to the hard shape in my shorts, his lips curling in a small, approving smile.
“Welcome to Athens, men,” he said in warm accented English.
Before we could answer, Tommy spoke just loud enough for him to hear. “Professor, do not let the uniform fool you, he has been staring at you since we stepped off the bus.”
The officer chuckled and reached out, his hand wrapping around my upper arm. He gave it a light squeeze, his thumb brushing over the muscle before letting go. His eyes met mine again, then dipped once more to my shorts. “Enjoy your stay,” he said slowly.
Arben had come inside from parking the bus, leaning casually against a pillar only a few feet from the elevator, as well. His eyes traveled over me with the persistence of a man appreciating every second.
Fortunate for me, the elevator’s doors quickly opened. George stepped in first, still smirking over his shoulder. I followed, my cock remaining fully hard, the fabric stretched tight. Tommy came in behind me, knuckles brushing my bare skin before the bellhop wheeled his cart in with us. However, just before the doors closed, I caught sight of Arben, again, still watching, still smiling.
Inside, the mirrored wall caught everything. Tommy continued to tease, shifting me slightly and tugging the fabric of my shorts tight until the outline of my cock was obvious. George joined in, positioning himself so that in the reflection the bellhop saw exactly what they wanted him to, two fit college students presenting their athletic professor, framed perfectly between them.
The short elevator ride had stretched out, every second heavy with tension as the mirrored walls repeated the scene from every angle. The bellhop’s gaze shifted back and forth from my reflection to my body and back again, his eyes traced each line as if to make sure he missed nothing. I had felt pinned in place, blushing under his stare, my body openly displayed and used, and there was no hiding from it.
Room assignments were simple: boys in doubles. Faculty in singles. When we reached our floor, I told the boys I was tired and needed to get to sleep early.
I was not lying. My body was still buzzing from the boys’ playful hands and tricks. I closed my door, tossed my duffel bag onto the sofa, and peeled off my shirt. Then I lay back on the bed in my tiny shorts, exhaling.
Sleep came in waves. Then around midnight...
Knock. Knock.
I opened the door.
George.
Barefoot. Soccer shorts. No shirt.
He looked up at me and said nothing.
I stepped aside.
He walked in like he belonged there.
I closed the door softly behind him, heart pounding. We both knew what was about to happen.
George did not speak. He did not need to. His eyes already said everything.
He looked at me the same way he had during the entire school year, the same way he did during the photo shoot a few weeks ago. Back then he had stripped and taken me in front of the camera. Back then, I had silently begged. Eagerly.
Now, in the warm glow of the Athens hotel room, I stood frozen. My bare chest rose and fell as George approached. His body was a reminder of the power he carried on the soccer field, tight, tan, all lean young college athlete muscle. The definition in his arms, the lines across his chest, the steady flex of his quads as he walked. He looked like a team captain walking into a championship locker room.
His eyes swept over my body, staring at the outline of my cock beneath the clingy stained fabric of my shorts. The soft material hugged my hips, the newly damp center revealing the shape of my growing erection.
His fingers brushed my jaw. He traced the edge of my lips with his thumb, then slowly dragged that same thumb down my neck and over my chest. He circled one nipple, teasing it until it perked, then lowered his hand to my tight abs.
“You knew I was coming,” he said quietly.
I swallowed. My throat was dry. My cock throbbing.
George leaned in close, his lips near my ear. “You left the door unlocked.”
I had. On purpose.
He slowly walked me backward until my legs hit the bed. His lips remaining close. I felt his breath across my face before he leaned in and softly kissed the side of my neck.
My knees gave slightly.
He caught me.
Then he laid me gently onto the bed. I landed with my legs naturally falling open. My shorts rode even higher. He stepped between them, kneeling on the small piece of mattress that was made available for him, eyes locked on mine as his hands slid up my thighs, strong, confident, possessive.
“You are leaking again,” he said, voice low.
He tugged the waistband gently, then peeled the shorts down. My cock sprang free, hard and wet.
“Still perfect,” he said. “Look at you, tan, soft, sexy. You do not even know how beautiful you are, do you?”
George took his time as he leaned forward to my hard, erect cock. His lips met the head with a slow kiss, then trailed down my shaft, across my lower stomach, and along my thighs. He kissed and sucked, licking the area around the base of my balls. Then he pressed his cheek to my inner thigh, as if savoring the feel of my skin.
“You were perfect on the bus,” he murmured. “Now show me you can stay just as perfect for me here.”
I whimpered.
He lifted my legs and pushed them higher, leaving me fully exposed. Fuckable.
Then he began to rim me, slow, wet, deep. His tongue circled my smooth, moist hole before pressing inside, hard and sensual. I cried out, my legs trembling.
George slid off his soccer shorts and kicked them aside. He came down over me, his lips wet, his jaw tight. He spit into his hand, stroked his hard cock once, and lined it up against my hole.
“You want it like last time?” the beautiful college boy asked.
I nodded. Barely able to breathe.
He pushed in.
It hurt. Just a little.
George groaned and lowered his full weight on top of me. His hands slid beneath my shoulders, locking me down. Then he started to move, slow at first. Deep. Intentional.
“Your hole is so tight,” he said. “I have been thinking about this for weeks. About you. Today you wore your tiny white shorts. Your strong ass walking around. Do you know what you were doing to me?”
“I did not know,” I said, breathless.
“Of course you did not,” he smirked. “That is what makes you my perfect DILF.”
I gasped. My hole clenched around him.
He grunted and pushed deeper.
My student athlete picked up the pace. Rocked into me harder. My legs wrapped around his waist. I felt every inch of him, his muscles, his sweat, the press of his abs against mine.
“You have the softest skin,” he said. “These thighs? I would love having them locked around me every night. This coach’s ass? It was made for me. You were made for me.”
George’s hand held the back of my neck as he thrust. His other hand slid under my thigh, lifting my hips even higher. He fucked me deeper, grinding as he moved. Every time he pulled out, I felt empty. Every time he pushed back in, I moaned.
“You like this?” George asked. “Being fucked like this?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “I want to be good for you.”
“You are,” he growled. “So good. Just like at the photo shoot. You remember how your eyes begged for me to fuck you in front of the camera?”
I nodded. My body trembling.
“You are going to cum for me again. Show me.”
I cried out as my cock throbbed and shot onto my chest. It hit my chin. My abs. I was leaking everywhere.
George kept going.
“Going to fill you up,” he said. “You are not leaving this bed without my cum inside you.”
He buried himself deep and came, groaning, biting down into my shoulder, his body shuddering above me.
We quietly lay there.
And then he said, “Please do not make me wait a long time before I fuck you again.”
I could only nod, stunned, stretched.
The room had gone still. The air thick with the scent of sweat, cum, and George. I lay on my back, body warm and slick, his cum slowly dripping out of me as he cuddled beside me, his young muscular thigh resting across my hips, his hand gently stroking my chest.
But I was not sleepy. Not even close. My body was humming with everything he had just done to me, every thrust, every word, every flick of his tongue. And as he pulled me tighter against him, grinding slightly into my body, I knew he was not done either.
He spoke close to my ear. “You are still hard.”
I nodded.
He kissed the side of my neck. “You want more?”
I did not even answer. I lifted my hips.
George rolled me onto my stomach, climbing back over me. He slid his palms up my back, massaging each shoulder, then trailed kisses down my spine. I moaned into the pillow as his strong young hands kneaded my athletic bubble butt apart. I could feel his cock, still hard, slick with his last orgasm, rubbing against my hole.
“This ass is mine, Professor,” he said.
He pushed in again, slower this time and deeper, as I raised my ass off the bed to meet him.
I moaned, gripping the sheets.
He held my hips firm, angling just right, hitting that perfect spot that made my entire body shake.
“Good DILF,” he said. “You take me so well.”
“Yes, George," I whispered. "Use me.”
He fucked me slowly, complimenting every inch of me, the muscles in my back, the way my body clung to him, the way I whimpered every time he bottomed out.
“All mine,” he said. “So handsome. You were made for this.”
My college jock leaned forward, lips against my neck. “You make me crazy. You dripping. Your voice. The way you moan for me.”
I felt my cock throb again, untouched.
He reached under me, gripped it. “You want to cum again?”
“Please,” I said.
“You going to keep leaking every time I fuck you?”
“Yes,” I moaned. “I cannot help it.”
George grunted and began to pound harder, slapping against me. The room filled with the sounds of skin, breath, and low, hungry moans. My body trembled beneath him.
He did not stop until I was begging, until my cock exploded onto the bed cover, my body shaking. And then, deep inside me, he came.
“Mine,” he said.
He collapsed on top of me, still inside, still hard.
We drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours, twisted, sweaty, and claimed before the sun began to rise.
When the morning light filtered in through the sheer hotel room’s curtains, my body yearned in the best ways. I blinked against the light, stretched a little… then flinched. My hole still throbbed with the memory of George’s cock.
He stirred beside me. One eye cracked open, his grin curled across his lips. “Morning, DILF.”
I blushed.
George leaned in and kissed my shoulder, then my neck, then the spot behind my ear that always made me shiver.
“Shower?” he said.
I nodded.
He peeled himself out of the sheets, my boy athlete, naked, dreamy, strong, and hard again. I followed. My shorts were still on the floor, but he scooped them up, sniffed them with a smirk, and tossed them onto the chair.
The hotel bathroom was all white tile and glass. George stepped into the large rainfall shower and turned the knob. Warm water poured down. He motioned for me to follow. I stepped in after him, steam curling around us as the hot water hit our backs.
His hands were on me instantly.
He lathered my shoulders with soap, massaging deep. His fingers dug into the tension from last night, easing my knots with slow, circular movements. He ran his palms down my back, soapy and slick, then grabbed my glutes and worked them, spreading them slightly under the water.
“You really are the sexiest coach on campus,” he said, his chest pressing against my back. His cock, already hard again, slid between my cheeks.
“George…”
“You have no idea what you do to me.” He turned me around, kissed my chest, then dropped to his knees in the shower.
Hot water streamed over George’s head as he took my cock into his mouth. The sensation of the water and his lips sent sparks through my body. I moaned, gripping his wet hair, looking down at him as his muscles flexed. He looked like a young god worshipping my body.
He sucked me deep, then stood, water falling over us both.
“I need to be inside you again,” he said. “Right here.”
He slowly turned me to face the tile wall, pressed me forward, and I lightly moaned as his fingers slid between my glutes. He rubbed gently, working me open under the heat of the water. Then, with one slow, slick thrust, he entered me.
My hands flattened against the wall. His body pressed firmly against mine.
He moved in deep, slow strokes, water washing over us. Each thrust echoed off the tile as I whimpered.
“You are so strong and athletic,” he said.
He fucked me through the steam, through the heat, until I was gasping for more. His arms wrapped around me, stroking my cock as he thrust into me. We came together, groaning into the steam.
I slumped against the shower wall, spent.
He kissed my shoulder. “We had better quickly dry off. We have ruins to visit.”
I smiled. I knew I was George’s DILF.
Author is Brad
My email is [email protected] I would love to hear your thoughts.
This story is one of my favorite fantasies with my college student athlete and me.
You can also find my other stories on Nifty: The Chosen Jock and A Triathlete’s Troubles.
I love getting men excited, whether it is through my writing, watching me grind out reps in skin-tight gear at the gym, showing off online, or moving my body on a stage.
I will stay hard for you in every way that matters.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
