Ethan steps forward, boots thudding on the sticky floor, a black silicone plug in his hand—3.5 inches long, thick as a fist at its widest, slick with mango-flavored lube that drips onto his shaved thighs.
Tor stood over him, his 6’2” buff frame a towering mass of muscle, his thick biceps flexing as he wiped sweat from his buzzed red hair. His 8-inch cock, still semi-hard and glistening with the frothy mix of cum and egg whites, hung heavy in his black shorts, the fabric stained with precum.
The locker room buzzed with the electric aftermath of the big baseball game, the air thick with the scent of sweat, dirt, and victory. The college team had just crushed their rivals, and the energy among the players was off the charts—pure, raw, masculine adrenaline pumping through every jock in the room.
The Sigma Chi house is a pressure cooker on this muggy Saturday night, the air thick with beer, pounding trap beats, and the raw musk of sweat-drenched bodies.
At the tender age of 21, Koen has ascended to the status of a campus deity, a baseball star whose presence sweeps through the university like a tempest of flame, leaving hearts ablaze and yearning in its wake.
Older and more muscle guys were sitting around him: 22-25 years old, but all with biceps swollen from training, bulging breasts, narrow hips and, most importantly, at-least-8-inch dicks (which was the main condition for admission to the fraternity).