[SS-1589] Breakfast Snaps

BREAKFAST SNAPS

It started as just another photojournalism assignment. A profile on the undefeated university athletes—a brotherhood of sculpted, unstoppable men whose dominance in competition bordered on supernatural.

They called them “The White Shorts,” for the only thing they wore during morning meals. When I entered the cafeteria at 6:00 a.m., I wasn’t prepared for the sight: rows of flawless bodies, gleaming with effort, seated in pairs. Their muscles twitched beneath the skin, still alive with post-workout heat. Every plate was identical—eggs, bacon, greens, and milk—but every gaze that met my lens was charged. Unapologetically confident. Almost... challenging.

Click.

Two of them flex as they toast with milk, locking eyes, mouths curling into private smiles.

Click.

Another pair feeds each other bites of toast—casual, but with fingers brushing just a second too long.

Throughout the day, I followed them. They moved like dancers in battle—silent communication, perfect timing. In the locker room, towels hung low, water dripped from backs like rivers down mountains. Even in lectures, they'd sit close, arms occasionally resting across one another’s shoulders, their energy humming like electricity under skin.

But it was in the dorm that the story cracked wide open.

They invited me in—just to “wrap up the day,” they said. I expected more casual footage. Instead, the common area was dim and golden, bathed in sunset and sweat. The air was thick with pheromones and low moans of laughter. Most were bare now—completely. Some leaned into each other, massaging sore shoulders, lips brushing necks as if it were second nature.

One duo on the rug wrestled playfully, their movements a blur of limbs and suppressed groans. Another lay in a tangle on the couch, locked in some slow, synchronized rhythm I couldn’t look away from. And when one noticed my stunned stillness, he grinned.

“This is how we bond,” he said, pulling his teammate closer, nuzzling into his chest. “We win together because we melt together.”

Then they knelt in front of me, pulled my pants down and jointly sucked on my cock. I moaned but still managed to take pictures of them hungrily devouring my meat. I came and they received my semen in their mouths, then kissed, exchanging my seed.

Later, I learned it was tradition. The Athletics Director believed that physical connection sharpened emotional trust. Their secret was that sensual devotion.

I left with a full memory card and flushed skin. The piece I published? Clean, professional—just enough to hint at the intensity beneath. But my own story? That stays with me. Or maybe... it continues.

I’ve already been invited back. Early breakfast. White shorts. No camera this time.

One of them whispered as I entered the breakfast nook, “Ready to be part of the team?”

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