He’s not like the other guys at the gym — no ego, no posing. Just quiet power and a smile that ruins me. I make sure I’m always close to him.
In the locker room, next to his usual #14.
Out on the gym floor.
In my fantasies.
If I am lucky enough, I get to use the equipment after him, searching out his smell and traces of sweat.
Of course, he doesn’t know I exist - but I have my imagination. And I am careful to save my most wicked thoughts for later, as my shorts offer little protection from revealing my true desires. So when I get home - cock in hand - we are together.
We are always at his place and things always start in the shower. We have returned from the gym, and we both soap each other’s tired muscles. I am by no means small, but his hands look huge as they run the suds across my skin. Muscles clean, we soap cocks. His slick fingers squeeze my balls, before moving to my ass, probing and making sure I am ready for him. We then kiss under the head of the shower. Eyes closed. The falling water loud in our ears.
Our passion pauses as we dry ourselves. We apply muscle rubs and creams. Then, after some subtle deodorant and light cologne, we enter the bedroom.
Both naked.
Both hard.
I take in his body as he stands before me. He looks like he was designed by God himself. The dark hair on his legs and above his erection exciting me. Ridiculous body fat percentage that makes his muscles pop and the tattoo on his shoulder speak.
His beastly frame hides a tender sensitive man. I know his passion wants to pin me down and fuck me (I want this too), but he strokes my face as our tongues and cocks come into contact. He pulls me close and reaches around. His finger is never far from my ass. Slick with saliva and keeping me open.
And then I give myself to him.
Leaving his tender kisses behind and lying face down on the bed.
I expect a lubed finger but his tongue finds my tight hole instead. I grind my sensitive cock against the mattress as his mouth and tongue prepare me: his spit running down to my already taut balls. He then kneels up, and my heart races as I listen to the sound of a condom packet being ripped open. The slick noise of lube being applied.
No more Mr Nice Guy as his heavy frame lays on top of me, his sticky cock coming into contact with my shaved ass. Our legs fight a little as he spreads me, and soon the tip of his hot cock is ready to strike. Passion has taken away his tenderness. I gasp as he forces his way in — the pain and pleasure mixing perfectly. I show my devotion, pushing back, giving him permission to fuck and use me.
As he thrusts in and out, I can tell by his moans and breathing that he is already fighting an orgasm — the stamina from the gym not transferring to the bedroom. To delay the inevitable, he withdraws his rubber clad cock. And using only a small part of his strength, he flips me onto my back. He then holds my legs up and aligns his cock with my ass once more. He pushes in deep again, but now his thrusts are replaced by brutal grinding. And as one hand easily holds a leg in position, his other grabs my cock, using it as an anchor to increase the power of each inward grind. I look up at him in awe as he fucks me into oblivion.
With one final push - he comes. He is quiet at the gym, but noisy here. He roars as he fills the condom with spunk. And as he throbs in my tight ass, his slick fingers squeeze out my orgasm. My cock and prostate working together to fire cum across my chest and face.
With the absence of our moans, deep breathing fills the room. He holds the condom steady and withdraws. I feel empty already. We clean up the sweat and passion and then drink protein shakes in the kitchen, still naked and unashamed. Then I put fresh clothes over my sticky skin and turn to go.
I leave without his number.
I don’t need it.
I already know it — Locker 14.
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