NAVY SWEATY
The locker room air is thick, heavy with the scent of victory and his sweat. My jock. He’s panting, his massive chest still heaving from the game, his skin flushed and glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. He looks like a fucking god, and he’s all mine.
“Strip,” I command, my voice low and rough.
He doesn’t hesitate. His jersey comes off first, revealing the slabs of muscle on his torso. Then the pants, kicked away carelessly. He stands before me in nothing but that tight, sweat-soaked navy blue briefs, the fabric clinging to every curve of his powerful ass and the thick bulge in the front.
“Flex for me. Let me see what a real man looks like.”
He obeys instantly, his body a symphony of power. He hits a double bicep pose, his muscles popping, the veins in his arms like thick cords. A sheen of sweat drips from his temple and trails down his neck. He looks so confident, so dominant, but I know the truth. He’s mine to break.
“On your knees,” I order, my voice leaving no room for argument. He drops immediately, the sound of his pads hitting the floor echoing in the quiet room. He crawls to me, his eyes locked on mine, full of raw, desperate need. “You know what to do.”
He fumbles with my zipper, his hands trembling slightly. My cock springs out, hard and ready. He looks up at me for permission, like the good boy he is. I just nod. He takes me into his mouth, his lips hot and wet. He’s gotten so good at this, his tongue swirling around the head as he takes me deeper, his throat relaxing to swallow every inch.
I grab a fistful of his hair, forcing him to take it even more. “That’s it. Choke on it. Show me how much you want it.”
I pull him off, a string of saliva connecting his lips to my cock. “Now, ride me.” I sit on the bench, and he straddles my lap, his back to me. I grip his hips, guiding him as he sinks down onto my dick. He’s so fucking tight. He starts to move, a slow, torturous rhythm that drives me wild.
“Faster,” I growl, slapping his ass hard. He yelps and speeds up, his muscles flexing as he slams himself down onto me. “Harder, you fucking slut. Beg for it.”
“Please, Coach,” he gasps, his voice strained. “Fuck me faster. Harder. Please, I need it.”
I piston my hips up, meeting his every thrust, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room. His untouched cock is bouncing, leaking precum all over his abs. With a guttural scream, he cums, shooting thick ropes all over his own stomach. His ass clenches around me, and I bury myself deep, filling him with my own release. He collapses back against me, a spent, panting mess.
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