First day at a new school. One look at me and I know I'm getting attention, and not just because I'm new. I'm in good shape, my arms are sculpted from the gym, my stride is confident.
The locker room was loud, thick with the smell of sweat, boys, and testosterone. And him. James. The team captain. The guy who thinks he rules the world because everyone agrees with him. Tall, with a raised chin and that damn confident attitude. He stood in the center, laughing at some skinny kid whose cap he had just snatched and thrown over him. Everyone around him was laughing as if it was funny, not pathetic.
I couldn't ignore it.
I walked over, without a word, grabbed the cap, gave it back to the boy, and looked James straight in the eye.
“You got a problem?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. His voice was deep and harsh. He came closer than necessary.
“I have a problem with assholes who think they're someone because everyone kisses their ass,” I said calmly but with clear emphasis.
Before he could respond, he pushed me against the wall. Not hard, but hard enough to make my ears ring.
“Who the fuck are you to interfere?” he snarled.
“Someone who won't let you push people around,” I said, pushing myself away from the wall and looking him straight in the face. “What, you're not used to someone not being afraid of your big ego?”
The locker room fell silent. Everyone froze. I could feel all their eyes on me.
James raised his eyebrows. “You've got balls, new guy. But I like bets. How about you?”
I started to smile.
“Perfect,” I said, stepping into the center of the locker room. “Bet: plank. Static hold. First one to drop, loses.”
“And the stakes?”
“The loser gives the winner a blowjob. Here. Now.”
The silence exploded into a buzz of whispers and laughter. Someone in the back gasped, “Oh fuck...”
James looked me in the eyes. For a second, I thought he was going to back down. But no. He was too proud.
“Okay, new guy,” he snorted. “Just don't cry when you lose.”
“Don't worry about me,” I said. “Worry about your throat.”
The floor in the locker room was cold and hard, but I didn't care. I dropped to my forearms, my body tense, motionless. James did the same across from me. A group of guys surrounded us, some from the team, some just regular onlookers. Some of them had eyes like saucers. One of them took out his phone and started the stopwatch.
“Ready?” he muttered.
“Always,” I said quietly, looking James in the eyes.
“Go.”
Everyone fell silent.
James tensed his body. He was in good shape, you could see that, his shoulders tense, his triceps bulging under his shirt sleeve. But after the first two minutes, it started.
Quiet breathing through clenched teeth. Then a grinding sound. His elbows began to tremble slightly. Me? I stood like a rock. I could have held that position for hours. I had been practicing it every day.
Four minutes passed. Beads of sweat appeared on his neck. His gaze was no longer confident.
“You know you're losing, right?” I whispered.
James didn't answer. He clenched his teeth. But his hips dropped slightly — his body gave up.
“Time!” someone shouted. “James touched the floor. Matt wins!”
The locker room fell silent. Everyone looked at him. He lowered his head, breathing heavily.
“A bet's a bet,” someone said from behind.
James looked at me. His eyes were dark. Maybe from anger. Or maybe... from something else.
“Come on,” I said quietly, unzipping my pants. “Show me you've got guts, not just muscles.”
Quiet like never before. Only the sound of my zipper. I pulled out my cock slowly, taking my time. Already hard from the thought alone, from the tension, from the fact that I was humiliating the school king on his own turf.
When he saw it, he blinked. As if he had just realized the bet wasn’t just about pride… but about domination. And that he had just lost to someone who could literally rip his throat out, not to mention how big my cock was.
James stood motionless, his eyes fixed on my dick. For the first time, there was no arrogance in his eyes. Rather... surprise. Or shock.
He took half a step back. As if he wanted to back down.
“What's up, tough guy?” I whispered, leaning slightly toward him. “You thought you'd always be the one calling the shots?”
From behind, someone said again, quietly but clearly:
"A bet's a bet."
James reacted. As if he remembered that everyone was watching. That if he backed down now, he'd show that he had no honor.
He took a breath. A deep, sharp breath. And then... he knelt down. I didn't feel sorry for him. Not after what he'd done to others. I grabbed him by the neck, gently.
He opened his mouth and took me inside.
Deep, hot contact. A little clumsy, a little stiff, but he did it. He sucked me with his eyes closed, breathing heavily through his nose. I don't know if he felt shame or humiliation. But he knew there was no turning back.
“That's right,” I muttered.
I didn't want to destroy James. I didn't want to show him that I was better. I wanted him to understand. That not everyone would be afraid of him. And that sometimes you have to take responsibility for your actions.
And that was the simplest lesson I could teach him.
Everyone was watching. And no one laughed, they didn't even try, because despite everything, they were still afraid of him.
James sucks me slowly, clumsily, but with determination. His hands are clenched on my thighs, his body tense as if he's doing it against his will, but he's doing it. His tongue trembles slightly, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. He breathes through his nose, loudly. With every movement, I feel my body pulsing more and more.
I pull his hair, not hard, just enough to make him look me in the eyes. There is anger in them. But also... something else. Maybe shame. Maybe anger. Or maybe the fact that he didn't think he'd really have to do this.
The silence in the locker room is heavier than the air after a workout. No one says a word. Everyone is watching. At me. At him. At us.
I can feel it building inside me. A wave of tension in my gut, all the way down to my balls.
"I'm about to cum," I whisper into his ear. "So brace your throat."
And I finish. With a deep, strong thrust. He chokes slightly, but doesn't pull away. He presses his lips together, swallows, then slowly moves away, wiping his mouth with his hands. His face is red with rage, but also... with some kind of humility. Swallowed pride.
James gets up, still panting. He doesn't look at anyone.
“You're lucky,” I say, zipping up my pants. “That we didn't play to see who could fuck who. Because you'd be walking around with a sore ass for a week.”
Someone behind me, I don't know who, shouts:
“There's always overtime!”
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