After Yoga Class

It's so fucking hot. You're not wearing a shirt, but that's not really helping. Sweat drips off your face, through your hair and in your eyes. It drips off onto your shoulders, beads down your pecs. Running down your back, on your ass too. Your tight compression shorts are soaked and your muscles are on fire. You always liked the feeling of exerting yourself and working out hard, but this is insane. You swear they turned it up hotter than usual in here today.

Sighing out a namaste in return, you lay back down on your mat as the teacher turns the lights down low and leaves, giving the class as long as they want to rest. To be honest, you're not sure if you can get up. Your glutes are burning from those slow warrior poses, and you didn't realize how much tension was in your hips and shoulders until you twisted and untwisted yourself for 90 minutes at 100+ degrees. It feels good though. You wonder if you'll ever be as flexible as the girls in the front row and the guy next to you. He didn't necessarily look like the kind of guy who could touch his toes. He looked more like a swimmer, tall with wide shoulders that tapered down into his torso and abs. Not overly jacked like a bodybuilder, but enough muscle to look like a jock. Nice arms. You looked over to see if you were doing one of the poses right, and his triceps were popping out as he shifted his body weight onto his arms.

The only other guy in the class, not the hot one next to you, takes the world's quickest shower. He files past you out the door on your way into the locker room. At least you hope he showered anyway, seeing his wet hair. Imagine if that was his sweat from the class. That would be sociopath behavior. Just put your work clothes back on and walk out the door?

You guess you were feeling a little lightheaded though. You had managed to get up, roll up your mat, pick up your water bottle, and exit the studio room with only a few stars whirling across your vision. Bit of a runner's high, really. Now your lungs feel strong and powerful. The oxygen pumps through your body and your nervous system sends signals up to your brain: you did it! You got through the whole class! You're a legend. A stud, really. A cute, sexy lil studmuffin.

You hear water running and you head toward the row of lockers. The shower stalls are right there at the end too. You sit down on the bench next to the lockers and glance up. Hot guy didn't even close the curtain! Jeez, what a pervert. You don't look though. Of course you don't, that would be weird. You're feeling too good to care though. He has a nice-looking cock: small dark bush above his thick shaft, gently curving down and extending a few inches past his relaxed balls. Circumcised. But you mean, you weren't looking, of course. Perv behavior though anyways, showering in a single stall without the curtain drawn.

His eyes are closed as he sways in the water. You risk a peek again. Definitely an athlete. Maybe swimmer isn't right, maybe he's a soccer player. Hard to tell. Oh, fuck. He opens his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He's just looking at you, deadpan. Mortified, you turn and grab your towel and make for a stall a couple showers away, face burning. For sure he saw you checking him out. You were just curious, you know? Oh my god. You just want the aliens to appear right now and beam every atom in your body across the galaxy. Or just vaporize you.

It's not like you see other guys' dicks every day. It's only natural to want to observe, collect data, compare. A couple inches bigger than yours. How big do you think it gets when it's hard? It's been a while since your college experiments; that was a few years ago now. But how to explain this innocent scientific curiousity to him? Don't bother, just keep moving.

"Hey, faggot." Oh no, this is getting worse. There's no one else in here.

"Uhh, sorry about that," you mumble as you reach the safety of the other stall. You had mixed feelings, shall we say, about that word, and it was a bold choice for the city you lived in.

"You like what you see?" he asks in somewhat of a mocking tone from his shower. Well, you kinda did. But you certainly weren't going to admit that to this homophobic guy, in your moment of humiliation. You were getting flashbacks to high school. You turn on the shower and firmly close the curtain. Your heart is beating fast. You strip off your shorts and hop in the water. Weirdly enough, you feel that bounce that happens when you pull down your shorts with a boner as it springs free.

The other shower shuts off. You don't hear much for a second or two, and then your shower curtain is yanked aside with a sharp

kshhhhk

of curtain hooks on the metal bar. Jesus fucking Christ, are you about to get murdered? Your hand is on your groin as you cower halfway to the side but simultaneously try to appear nonchalant, as if your imminent death is of no concern to you.

He stands there, dripping wet, no towel. Movie star looks, like Brad Pitt in

Fight Club

. Grin on his face, leaning on the wall with one hand. He's rock hard. Enormous. Okay maybe you won't literally die, just of embarrassment. But what the fuck was wrong with this guy?

"C'mere, you little freak. You can't keep your eyes off me, huh?" He has an alluring voice, syrupy and sweet, that makes you want to listen to his every word.

"I was just trying to watch you to get the poses right earlier," you hear yourself say, pathetically. He cracks up and steps into the stall. Holy shit.

"Yeah, alright." Sarcasm. "You needed to figure out how to shower, too? Didn't know how to do that one?" He steps forward again and pokes you, dick first. "I see how turned on you are. Why don't you show me your best cocksucker pose?"

Your cock is fully stiffened, and your heart skips a beat when you contemplate the task ahead of you. Not to mention being called a faggot. It awakens something primal in you, something shameful and wildly arousing. "Ok," you mutter, making hesitant eye contact again.

"That's 'yes sir' to you, faggot, but I'll let it slide this time," he allows. He firmly pushes your head down and you drop to a knee, then the other. "Good boy."

His penis bobs with anticipation. You see his curved tip, a tiny drop of precum on the end. The tip and that little band near the end are one shade lighter than the rest of the shaft. It's honestly beautiful. A few faint veins catch your eye, making you recall the muscles of his abs and arms, and your lips kiss the tip. The musky scent of him wafts up into your nose as you open your mouth. It's a scent of pure sex. Sweat and pheromones and locker room mixed with a sandalwood aroma of soapy cleanliness. Did he bring his own bodywash?

You snap back into focus. He runs his fingers through your hair and pushes you down on his cock. You close your eyes and move forward with his hands, close to gagging. "Stick your tongue out, gay boy," he says imperiously. You feel him push up against your throat and try to let him in, but you can hardly open your mouth wide enough. You stick your tongue out and gurgle-moan as he starts to rock your face back and forth. It's incredibly hot. You also feel a big gag coming on, less sexy than you'd like, and try to pull away.

He looks down and studies you as his cock rests on your face. You gasp, out of breath. "May I service your balls, sir?" you politely ask. Where the fuck did that turn of phrase come from, you wonder? Maybe you are a faggot.

He nods, pleased. "I see you're a quick learner."

His smell is stronger and you eagerly suck on one of his balls. You let it fall, then go for the other one. You alternate back and forth, then sit back on your feet and get lower, moving your tongue in circles around the bottom of his sack, doing that for a while and then exploring closer to his taint too. He sighs a few times, and you can tell he likes it.

"You were born to suck cock, weren't you, pretty boy. You look real good with my dick and balls in your mouth, don't you?" You murmur your assent. You start licking up the bottom base of his gorgeous long dick all the way to the end, like a lollipop, multiple times. Then you engulf the mushroom with your mouth once more, increasing the sucking pressure tight and slack again, releasing it with a little pop of your mouth. Once again, you open your mouth and throat as far as they can go, feeling the spit run down your chin and slightly exaggerating the wet noises you're making. You take one hand and play with his balls, sucking all the while, grabbing his hip and his butt.

The spit is all over you, and he slides you off his cock by your hair. He twirls the spit from your mouth and his penis around two of his fingers and rubs it all over your lips and chin. He proceeds to shove them down your throat, then retracts them to smear more saliva on your face. You're deeply embarrassed by this show of dominance, and your cock gets even harder, if that's possible. Finally he spits on your face, squarely hitting your cheekbone.

"Deeper now. How far can you go." His rhetorical question comes out as more of a statement. "Put your hands behind your back and slobber all over my man meat like your life depends on it, faggot."

Determined to please the man in front of you and scared and eager for what might come if you do a good job, you clasp your hands behind you by your ass. You're half sitting half kneeling on your legs sprawled beneath you as you let your body relax, coming to terms with how much fun you're having. Your eyes, unfocused, roll back a little as you unclench any tension in your throat and thrust forward on his intoxicating girth. Wriggling your body up a little straighter, you do your best to get your nose to his curly pubes, the tip of his cock deep into the back of your throat, not quite reaching the base as you strain forward. Exhaling wildly, you lean back a little, panting.

"Mmmhhgh," you say wordlessly, pleased with your efforts, as is he. You repeat your dutiful deepthroating, giving it everything you've got, each time getting a millimeter closer to the tightly curled hair above his shaft, noticing his sexy V muscles framing his midsection.

His mocking yet truthful praise and his grunts are increasing in volume as you pause at his base each time, holding your breath as he fills your facehole completely. He uses his hands once more and holds you against him, holds you, holds you, longer. You're starting to lose your breath when he shoves your face a foot away. Shuddering and yelling, he starts cumming, shooting load after sticky load onto your already soaked face. It hits you with a splat right on your eyelid as you close both eyes just in time. He cakes your cheeks, your neck, your chest. You're relieved and proud, turned on and grossed out, emotions and desire coursing through you as you crack open an eye.

"Don't move," he says. He moves swiftly to his locker and grabs his phone. "What's your number, pretty boy?"

"Ummm...." You were definitely not expecting to be exposed like that when you came to class today, but it was undeniably exciting to be used like that. "Ok. Uh, I can do that," you say, as you recite it. He snaps a picture of you and slowly dictates as he types, "Cocksucker From Yoga."

Jesus fucking Christ. You're loving every minute of it.

"What do you say?"

"Oh! Thank you, daddy!" your sick brain comes up with.

"You're welcome slut. Now clean yourself up and I'll see you next time."