Oscar Wilde
Virgin
NOTE: This is a work of fiction, and it in no way is meant to imply anything about the real life sexuality or sexual habits of the model known as Damien Kyle It's meant to be in good fun, but it can and will be removed on request if Blumedia or Damien himself has a problem with it.
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Damien took one last hit off his blunt. At that point, it wasn't much more than a roach. Some people said that weed made it harder for them to think, harder for them to get things done. It wasn't that way at all for Damien. It focused his attention, streamlined things. It narrowed the world down to the things that mattered, just the priorities.
And that made it the perfect way to get ready to hit up the gym.
Damien blew the smoke out, watching it rise up into the air and dissipate, the last wisps evaporating somewhere up near the ceiling of his pad. As the smoke cleared, so did his head. It was go time. Damien stretched his arms out, up over his head, feeling them loosen up as he went. Anyone looking at him would have seen a hot, shirtless jock whose muscles rippled under his skin as he twisted his chest around, loosening up. He tossed an undershirt on over his toned pecs and abs and walked out the door.
. . .
Twenty minutes later, he was at the gym. The blunt had done its job - Damien had zeroed in on a machine and he hopped on it. As he was getting down to business he thought he saw another dude, who was working on his squats aross the room, looking over at him. But his focus was perfect - as he started to push and pull, lift and let fall, his world narrowed down to the sweet strain in his muscles.
Nothing in the world except maybe fucking felt better than that - the burn, the tightening, the release as the reps and sets stacked up, one after another, tightening his body. Tighten. Hold. Release. It made him strong and it made him sexy, and Damien loved every second of it.
As he finished up with the chest presses, he opened up his eyes. Across the room, the dude was still doing squats, but he'd changed positions. Now, he was facing away from Damien. As he took the weight on his shoulders and bent down, it pushed his ass out backwards, straining against the tight shorts he wore to the gym.
THAT got Damien's attention. He gave the guy a better look this time. Short, cropped brown hair, almost military style. A body obviously well used to the gym underneath the tight shorts and his own undershirt. Sweat running down his back. And that ass popping out, perfectly curved and just begging to be loved by someone who knew how.
"What the hell," Damien thought. "Might as well see if he wants a spot."
Damien lifted himself up out of the chest press machine. His muscles had that familiar deep ache to them, fresh off the machine. People who didn't go to the gym didn't get how fucking good it could feel.
As Damien walked over to the squatting jock, the jock racked up the weights - apparently for the last time, because he grabbed his towel and wiped the sweat off his brow before turning back around.
As he turned around, he saw Damien casually walking over his way. Casually, sure, but with a little swagger, a little bounce in his step. Damien had always been proud of the way he walked and carried himeslf. It showed the world that he knew how to get what he wanted and he wasn't going to take any shit off anyone.
Apparently the jock liked it to - a small, challenging smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
"What up, bro," the jock said, smile widening a little bit. "I was just about to go shoot some hoops. Think you can take this?"
"This", Damien saw, turned out to be a pretty impressive physique - toned EVERYTHING, it looked like, including a little peak at cuts that pointed down at what looked like a decent sized package.
"Bro," replied Damien, his competitive instincts flaring up, "you'd best bet I can."
. . .
A few minutes later, they were on the court. Both of them had stripped off their wife beaters - this game, it looked like, was going to be one on one, skin against skin. A thin sheen of sweat still clung to Damien's skin from the weights. As he loosened up, it showed off the dense, black hair under his pits, and his toned abs flexed and twitched under his skin.
Damien dribbled the ball once, twice, testing its bounce. And then without warning, he took a line in toward the hoop, challenging the jock to keep up and block him if he could.
Right from the very start, both men knew it was going to be a physical game. As the ball shifted back and forth between the players, both dudes got up close and personal with the blocking. Time after time when he was guarding, Damien felt the muscles on his skin rub right up against the muscled back of the jock that he was blocking. Both men were sweating pretty heavily at this point; it even commingled as their skin came into contact again and again. When Damien had the ball, the man was so close up behind him he could hear his heavy breathing in his ear.
The rhythm of the game, the fight for the win, the heavy breathing, and the skin to skin contact with the jock were all mixing together in Damien's head. It got his blood boiling, got his own breathing heavy, and, more than anything else, it got him turned on. It was almost impossible to separate the sexual rush of his arousal from the adrenaline of the game, and it became harder and harder to think straight.
As the game came closer and closer to the finish, the game got even more physical. Damien felt hands on his ass while he had the ball, and he was pretty sure his dick was rubbing up against the jock while he was behind him. The feeling of his dick pushing up against the mesh of his shorts (he was freeballing it at the gym that day) and then through that against the jock's muscled ass got him even more worked up - it became part of the overall adrenaline haze that pushed him closer and closer to the win.
It was down the final seconds; Damien was ahead, as far as either of them could remember, by one. The jock had the ball and was angling in for a jump shot. As he flexed his legs, getting ready to take the jump, Damien's hand came in and stripped the ball right out of his hands. It was a dirty play, but the game itself had been dirty. And a win was a win.
"Yeah BITCH," Damien all but yelled, face and chest flushed with the combination of triumph, exhaustion, and pure horniness which had characterized the last minutes of the game. "What NOW?"
"You win bro." the jock said... although he didn't seem that disappointed about it. He gestured with his head toward the locker room. "Now come and get your prize."
. . .
The locker room, surprisingly, was deserted. Rows and rows of shiny lockers lined the room, flourescent lights shining down and dimly illuminating. The floor was hard, cold concrete. In the background, someone had left a shower running; its slow dribble into the drains was the only sound other than the muffled sounds of shouts and shoes scuffing the wood of the basketball courts.
Damien, high on the win, manhandled the jock into the locker room, then shoved him by the shoulders roughly down onto his knees. This put the jock's mouth right level with Damien's dick, which at this point was tenting out the mesh of his shorts, throbbing with blood.
At this point, no words were necessary; the jock didn't waste any time doing exactly what he was supposed to do. He rubbed the bulge in Damien's shorts with his hand and dipped the front of the shorts under Damien's balls and cock - hot and sweaty from the working out and the game - which sprung stiffly straight out ahead of him.
The jock's tongue - languidly, almost lazily - snaked out and he pushed his face right up into the base of Damien's package, the unmistakable smell of sweat and testosterone filling his nose. He used his tongue and his mouth to pleasure Damien's balls, letting them fall into and out of his mouth, sucking on them and, when they were in his mouth, using his tongue to caress and pleasure them. Damien's hands locked around the back of the jock's head, controlling the action and directing his mouth, never letting his head out of close contact with his junk as the jock steadily and diligently mouthed at his balls.
The attention only sent more blood rushing to Damien's dick, which was engorged and almost purple in the head now with his hard-on. Damien pulled the jock's head off his balls and rested the tip of his cock on the jock's bottom lip.
"Suck, bitch."
And with that command, the jock slicked up his lips and took Damien's dick into his mouth. This wasn't a slow, sweet blow job. The jock wasn't making love to Damien's dick with his mouth. It was fast, rough, and hard - as physical as the rough game had been, and in its way, just as competitive. His mouth tightened down around Damien's dick, taking the sensitive head down into his tight throat, and trying to make sure Damien felt his tongue on every inch of his dick.
The jock bobbed his head up and down, servicing Damien's dick with his mouth like his life depended on it, like he knew that losing the game meant that this was exactly where he was supposed to be - on his knees in a locker room, the smell of sweat and horny men surrounding him and in his nose, servicing another man's dick. This got him even harder - his dick was rubbing up against the mesh of his shorts, and if he'd had a hand free (one of them was rubbing Damien's thigh, the other was caressing the balls that had been in his mouth only a couple of seconds before)
As Damien got more and more into the blow job, he got more aggressive. He once again put his hands on the back of the jock's head to hold it steady. Then, he began to thrust his dick, in and out of the jock's mouth, enjoying the sensation of the jock's tight mouth on his dick. It felt primal, ancient, right - the victor takes the spoils, and Damien was claiming the jock's mouth.
But he didn't only want the jock's mouth. He pulled the jock's head off his dick and once again manhandled him, his hands rough under the jock's shoulders and across his chest. He bent the jock over a nearby bench, pulling down the jock's mesh shorts down to the ground and exposing the muscled ass that the jock had, only an hour before, been showing off while he was doing his squats. The mesh shorts fallign to the floor let the jock's dick spring out and to attention; it was fully hard and throbbing in time with his hartbeat, rising and falling as blood pumped into it.
Bending the jock over the bench exposed his tight hole to the air. Damien spit on his hand and rubbed it into the jock's hole, feeling the incredible heat of the inside of the jock's toned ass as he worked his finger deeper and deeper, slicking up the hole for the demands of his hard cock.
He couldn't wait anymore. His dick was still slick from the sloppy, deep throat face fucking he'd given the jock. He pushed the head of his dick into the jock's hole, feeling the silky warm and wet inside of the jock's ass clench down on his dick like a glove. He covered the jock's mouth with one hand to cover up his startled moan of pleasure, feeling the jock's warm breath exhale into his hand.
Once the head of Damien's cock was in, the rest of it slid in relatively easily. The jock's ass muscles clenched down on Damien's dick, warm and slick and tight. Damien started to pound his dick in and out, taking total control of the losing jock's hole. He let a steady stream of dirty talk out of his mouth, telling the jock what a sweet little bitch he was and how much he must love getting his ass fucked by a real man.
The feeling of the dick in his ass and the dirty talk were getting the jock close to the edge. Feeling the change in the jock's body, Damien reached down and took the jock's hard dick in his hand, feeling the free streaming pre-cum coat his palm as he continued to work his dick in and out of the hole, taking his pleasure he pleased. Damien jacked the jock's dick, feeling his shudders and moans against his back as he bent over and took total control of the jock's body.
"Yeah, bitch, that's right," Damien all but whispered into the jock's ear, feeling his breathing get heavier and heavier as he got close to the edge. "You love this dick so much you're going to cum right into my hand, right here while I fuck your sweet ass."
And that's exactly what happened. Moaning into Damien's hand, which was still covering his mouth, the jock's body spasmed against Damien's as he blew a load all over the bench and into Damien's other hand. This caused his ass to clench down on Damien's dick, milking his dick. That sent Damien over the edge, especially as the jock's ass wrapped around the sensitive head of his dick. The combined adrenaline and testosterone came to a peak in Damien's head, the haze and heat and dominance all coalescing into one incredible release as he blew spurt after spurt of hot jizz straight into the jock's hole.
He continued to pump until the last of his orgasm faded, the haze that was in his head slowly clearing as the cum flowed out. His breathing heavy, he rested against the jock's back for a second with his softening dick still up in the jock's hole. And then Damien pulled out and stood up as his breath and heart rate slowly returned to normal.
"That was fucking hot, bro," said the jock, wincing a litle as he stood up and rubbed his ass.
Damien barely heard him. After that workout and fuck, he was RAVENOUS, and it was hard for him to care about much else when he was hungry. This is probably what bitches called "hangry."
"Yeah, whatever bro," he said absently as he wiped his dick off on a nearby towel that someone had left and put his clothes back on. "I'm gonna get some grub. Probly see ya around sometime."
"Peace."
Straightening up, and turning, Damien headed out the door of the locker room. Taco Bell, he figured. Taco Bell was always good after a workout and a fuck.
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Damien took one last hit off his blunt. At that point, it wasn't much more than a roach. Some people said that weed made it harder for them to think, harder for them to get things done. It wasn't that way at all for Damien. It focused his attention, streamlined things. It narrowed the world down to the things that mattered, just the priorities.
And that made it the perfect way to get ready to hit up the gym.
Damien blew the smoke out, watching it rise up into the air and dissipate, the last wisps evaporating somewhere up near the ceiling of his pad. As the smoke cleared, so did his head. It was go time. Damien stretched his arms out, up over his head, feeling them loosen up as he went. Anyone looking at him would have seen a hot, shirtless jock whose muscles rippled under his skin as he twisted his chest around, loosening up. He tossed an undershirt on over his toned pecs and abs and walked out the door.
. . .
Twenty minutes later, he was at the gym. The blunt had done its job - Damien had zeroed in on a machine and he hopped on it. As he was getting down to business he thought he saw another dude, who was working on his squats aross the room, looking over at him. But his focus was perfect - as he started to push and pull, lift and let fall, his world narrowed down to the sweet strain in his muscles.
Nothing in the world except maybe fucking felt better than that - the burn, the tightening, the release as the reps and sets stacked up, one after another, tightening his body. Tighten. Hold. Release. It made him strong and it made him sexy, and Damien loved every second of it.
As he finished up with the chest presses, he opened up his eyes. Across the room, the dude was still doing squats, but he'd changed positions. Now, he was facing away from Damien. As he took the weight on his shoulders and bent down, it pushed his ass out backwards, straining against the tight shorts he wore to the gym.
THAT got Damien's attention. He gave the guy a better look this time. Short, cropped brown hair, almost military style. A body obviously well used to the gym underneath the tight shorts and his own undershirt. Sweat running down his back. And that ass popping out, perfectly curved and just begging to be loved by someone who knew how.
"What the hell," Damien thought. "Might as well see if he wants a spot."
Damien lifted himself up out of the chest press machine. His muscles had that familiar deep ache to them, fresh off the machine. People who didn't go to the gym didn't get how fucking good it could feel.
As Damien walked over to the squatting jock, the jock racked up the weights - apparently for the last time, because he grabbed his towel and wiped the sweat off his brow before turning back around.
As he turned around, he saw Damien casually walking over his way. Casually, sure, but with a little swagger, a little bounce in his step. Damien had always been proud of the way he walked and carried himeslf. It showed the world that he knew how to get what he wanted and he wasn't going to take any shit off anyone.
Apparently the jock liked it to - a small, challenging smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
"What up, bro," the jock said, smile widening a little bit. "I was just about to go shoot some hoops. Think you can take this?"
"This", Damien saw, turned out to be a pretty impressive physique - toned EVERYTHING, it looked like, including a little peak at cuts that pointed down at what looked like a decent sized package.
"Bro," replied Damien, his competitive instincts flaring up, "you'd best bet I can."
. . .
A few minutes later, they were on the court. Both of them had stripped off their wife beaters - this game, it looked like, was going to be one on one, skin against skin. A thin sheen of sweat still clung to Damien's skin from the weights. As he loosened up, it showed off the dense, black hair under his pits, and his toned abs flexed and twitched under his skin.
Damien dribbled the ball once, twice, testing its bounce. And then without warning, he took a line in toward the hoop, challenging the jock to keep up and block him if he could.
Right from the very start, both men knew it was going to be a physical game. As the ball shifted back and forth between the players, both dudes got up close and personal with the blocking. Time after time when he was guarding, Damien felt the muscles on his skin rub right up against the muscled back of the jock that he was blocking. Both men were sweating pretty heavily at this point; it even commingled as their skin came into contact again and again. When Damien had the ball, the man was so close up behind him he could hear his heavy breathing in his ear.
The rhythm of the game, the fight for the win, the heavy breathing, and the skin to skin contact with the jock were all mixing together in Damien's head. It got his blood boiling, got his own breathing heavy, and, more than anything else, it got him turned on. It was almost impossible to separate the sexual rush of his arousal from the adrenaline of the game, and it became harder and harder to think straight.
As the game came closer and closer to the finish, the game got even more physical. Damien felt hands on his ass while he had the ball, and he was pretty sure his dick was rubbing up against the jock while he was behind him. The feeling of his dick pushing up against the mesh of his shorts (he was freeballing it at the gym that day) and then through that against the jock's muscled ass got him even more worked up - it became part of the overall adrenaline haze that pushed him closer and closer to the win.
It was down the final seconds; Damien was ahead, as far as either of them could remember, by one. The jock had the ball and was angling in for a jump shot. As he flexed his legs, getting ready to take the jump, Damien's hand came in and stripped the ball right out of his hands. It was a dirty play, but the game itself had been dirty. And a win was a win.
"Yeah BITCH," Damien all but yelled, face and chest flushed with the combination of triumph, exhaustion, and pure horniness which had characterized the last minutes of the game. "What NOW?"
"You win bro." the jock said... although he didn't seem that disappointed about it. He gestured with his head toward the locker room. "Now come and get your prize."
. . .
The locker room, surprisingly, was deserted. Rows and rows of shiny lockers lined the room, flourescent lights shining down and dimly illuminating. The floor was hard, cold concrete. In the background, someone had left a shower running; its slow dribble into the drains was the only sound other than the muffled sounds of shouts and shoes scuffing the wood of the basketball courts.
Damien, high on the win, manhandled the jock into the locker room, then shoved him by the shoulders roughly down onto his knees. This put the jock's mouth right level with Damien's dick, which at this point was tenting out the mesh of his shorts, throbbing with blood.
At this point, no words were necessary; the jock didn't waste any time doing exactly what he was supposed to do. He rubbed the bulge in Damien's shorts with his hand and dipped the front of the shorts under Damien's balls and cock - hot and sweaty from the working out and the game - which sprung stiffly straight out ahead of him.
The jock's tongue - languidly, almost lazily - snaked out and he pushed his face right up into the base of Damien's package, the unmistakable smell of sweat and testosterone filling his nose. He used his tongue and his mouth to pleasure Damien's balls, letting them fall into and out of his mouth, sucking on them and, when they were in his mouth, using his tongue to caress and pleasure them. Damien's hands locked around the back of the jock's head, controlling the action and directing his mouth, never letting his head out of close contact with his junk as the jock steadily and diligently mouthed at his balls.
The attention only sent more blood rushing to Damien's dick, which was engorged and almost purple in the head now with his hard-on. Damien pulled the jock's head off his balls and rested the tip of his cock on the jock's bottom lip.
"Suck, bitch."
And with that command, the jock slicked up his lips and took Damien's dick into his mouth. This wasn't a slow, sweet blow job. The jock wasn't making love to Damien's dick with his mouth. It was fast, rough, and hard - as physical as the rough game had been, and in its way, just as competitive. His mouth tightened down around Damien's dick, taking the sensitive head down into his tight throat, and trying to make sure Damien felt his tongue on every inch of his dick.
The jock bobbed his head up and down, servicing Damien's dick with his mouth like his life depended on it, like he knew that losing the game meant that this was exactly where he was supposed to be - on his knees in a locker room, the smell of sweat and horny men surrounding him and in his nose, servicing another man's dick. This got him even harder - his dick was rubbing up against the mesh of his shorts, and if he'd had a hand free (one of them was rubbing Damien's thigh, the other was caressing the balls that had been in his mouth only a couple of seconds before)
As Damien got more and more into the blow job, he got more aggressive. He once again put his hands on the back of the jock's head to hold it steady. Then, he began to thrust his dick, in and out of the jock's mouth, enjoying the sensation of the jock's tight mouth on his dick. It felt primal, ancient, right - the victor takes the spoils, and Damien was claiming the jock's mouth.
But he didn't only want the jock's mouth. He pulled the jock's head off his dick and once again manhandled him, his hands rough under the jock's shoulders and across his chest. He bent the jock over a nearby bench, pulling down the jock's mesh shorts down to the ground and exposing the muscled ass that the jock had, only an hour before, been showing off while he was doing his squats. The mesh shorts fallign to the floor let the jock's dick spring out and to attention; it was fully hard and throbbing in time with his hartbeat, rising and falling as blood pumped into it.
Bending the jock over the bench exposed his tight hole to the air. Damien spit on his hand and rubbed it into the jock's hole, feeling the incredible heat of the inside of the jock's toned ass as he worked his finger deeper and deeper, slicking up the hole for the demands of his hard cock.
He couldn't wait anymore. His dick was still slick from the sloppy, deep throat face fucking he'd given the jock. He pushed the head of his dick into the jock's hole, feeling the silky warm and wet inside of the jock's ass clench down on his dick like a glove. He covered the jock's mouth with one hand to cover up his startled moan of pleasure, feeling the jock's warm breath exhale into his hand.
Once the head of Damien's cock was in, the rest of it slid in relatively easily. The jock's ass muscles clenched down on Damien's dick, warm and slick and tight. Damien started to pound his dick in and out, taking total control of the losing jock's hole. He let a steady stream of dirty talk out of his mouth, telling the jock what a sweet little bitch he was and how much he must love getting his ass fucked by a real man.
The feeling of the dick in his ass and the dirty talk were getting the jock close to the edge. Feeling the change in the jock's body, Damien reached down and took the jock's hard dick in his hand, feeling the free streaming pre-cum coat his palm as he continued to work his dick in and out of the hole, taking his pleasure he pleased. Damien jacked the jock's dick, feeling his shudders and moans against his back as he bent over and took total control of the jock's body.
"Yeah, bitch, that's right," Damien all but whispered into the jock's ear, feeling his breathing get heavier and heavier as he got close to the edge. "You love this dick so much you're going to cum right into my hand, right here while I fuck your sweet ass."
And that's exactly what happened. Moaning into Damien's hand, which was still covering his mouth, the jock's body spasmed against Damien's as he blew a load all over the bench and into Damien's other hand. This caused his ass to clench down on Damien's dick, milking his dick. That sent Damien over the edge, especially as the jock's ass wrapped around the sensitive head of his dick. The combined adrenaline and testosterone came to a peak in Damien's head, the haze and heat and dominance all coalescing into one incredible release as he blew spurt after spurt of hot jizz straight into the jock's hole.
He continued to pump until the last of his orgasm faded, the haze that was in his head slowly clearing as the cum flowed out. His breathing heavy, he rested against the jock's back for a second with his softening dick still up in the jock's hole. And then Damien pulled out and stood up as his breath and heart rate slowly returned to normal.
"That was fucking hot, bro," said the jock, wincing a litle as he stood up and rubbed his ass.
Damien barely heard him. After that workout and fuck, he was RAVENOUS, and it was hard for him to care about much else when he was hungry. This is probably what bitches called "hangry."
"Yeah, whatever bro," he said absently as he wiped his dick off on a nearby towel that someone had left and put his clothes back on. "I'm gonna get some grub. Probly see ya around sometime."
"Peace."
Straightening up, and turning, Damien headed out the door of the locker room. Taco Bell, he figured. Taco Bell was always good after a workout and a fuck.
And Thanks Again!
