GYM CONFUSION
It was 1am and the gym was dead empty. Just clanging weights and the buzz of fluorescent lights. The guy in the white shirt had been spotting his gym bro for hours, both of them sweating like pigs. Black shirt looked fucking insane tonight—those thick pecs stretching the fabric, veiny arms pumped to hell, and a fat ass that filled out his sweats like it wanted to be grabbed.
White Shirt wiped his face. “Bro, can you strap me on real quick? This cable machine’s being a bitch.”
Black Shirt blinked, then grinned slow. “Yeah? You want me to strap on?”
Before White Shirt could answer, Black Shirt yanked his shirt off. That massive chest bounced free—dark, shiny with sweat, nipples hard like bullets. He grabbed a black strap from the rack, wrapped it around his thick neck, and pulled it tight. The veins on his traps popped hard. He dropped to his knees right there on the gym floor, looking up with this dumb, horny smile.
White Shirt froze. “What the—dude, I meant the machine!”
But his cock didn’t get the message. It was already rock hard in his shorts. He’d been secretly eye-fucking this big musclehead for months. Now here he was, shirtless, collared like a bitch, waiting.
Black Shirt licked his lips. “C’mon man… you been staring at my chest all night. Strap’s on. Use my throat.”
That was it. The silly confusion flipped straight into raw heat.
White Shirt stepped forward, shoved his shorts down. His thick cock slapped out, heavy and leaking. He grabbed the black strap like a leash and yanked Black Shirt’s face forward. That hot, wet mouth opened wide. White Shirt didn’t hesitate—he shoved his dick straight in, balls deep in one thrust. The big guy gagged but took it, throat bulging around the shaft.
“Fuck yeah… choke on it, you big dumb stud,” White Shirt growled, hips snapping hard. He fucked that throat raw, watching those huge pecs bounce with every thrust, sweat flying off Black Shirt’s shoulders. The strap around his neck made everything tighter, hotter.
Black Shirt moaned like a whore around the cock, eyes watering, drool running down his chin onto his ripped abs. White Shirt gripped the strap harder, pounding faster, slapping his heavy balls against that stubbled chin.
Finally he pulled out, stroking fast. “Gonna paint that throat, bro—”
Thick ropes of cum shot across Black Shirt’s neck and chest, dripping down those swollen pecs. Black Shirt grinned, chest heaving, strap still tight around his neck.
“Next time… just say you wanna fuck me, man.”
White Shirt laughed, still panting. Best misunderstanding of his life.
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