Good Joc Bad Joc

Kyle sat on the bench in the locker room with a thud, panting heavily as he caught his breath after his workout. He was a runner by nature, not only enjoying the high that he got from pushing his body, but also being damn good at it. The impetus for taking up an exercise routine was mainly to avoid the dreaded freshman fifteen. The realization that he enjoyed running and had a natural talent for it came much too late for any sort of nurturing or honing of his physical prowess by way of cross-country or something of that nature in high school, but he knew he was better off keeping in shape now than to put on the pounds and have to work even harder later to get rid of them.

There were a couple of guys in his classes that he had his eye on, and while he hadn't been able to parlay subtle flirting into quickies between classes, looking fit would no doubt help him find a friend-with-benefits (or two, if he were optimistic) that he could use to blow off some steam. He gripped his hard cock in his shorts; one effect that runner's high had on him was the steel rod tucked into his jockstrap. Maybe if he were lucky, there would be no one in the shower, and he'd be able to take care of himself before heading back to the dorm. Even though it was night, he didn't want to traipse around campus with a noticeable bulge in his pants, not to mention that he was sure his roomie was back at the dorm, and his roomie wasn't the porno version of a college roommate that was chiseled beyond belief and ready to suck dick.

He heard the sound of running water coming from the direction of the showers and he sighed; so much for taking matters in his own hands. Kyle thought about locking himself in a bathroom stall and jerking off into the toilet, but imagining the odors that might be lingering in the air made him soften a bit. It was far from the most ideal situation. He flexed his thighs, using a trick he read about to redirect the blood flow from his dick and make it go down. Not the sexiest way to get rid of a boner, but the practical choice given the presence of some other dude in the shower and the unappealing prospect of shooting a load into a public toilet.

Kyle undressed and tied a towel from his locker around his waist, shoving the sweaty clothes into a pile in the back as he slipped his feet into a pair of flip-flops. Normally he would be more prudish about getting naked, so not having to worry about other people around felt liberating. Not that he minded if a hot guy gave him a subtle once-over; he worked hard to keep his hairless body trim, and appreciated what compliments he could gather, verbal or otherwise. Shower caddy in hand, he walked to the shower—which was an open room without any curtains or stalls, and probably meant that the college was cutting corners when it came to creature comforts like privacy—and froze when he saw the guy standing under the spray of water. No—the _man_.

He leaned against the wall, his handsome face contorted in pleasure. The water ran down his large and defined chest in rivulets, undeterred by the smooth skin. Were he laying down, Kyle was sure a pool of water would form from the trapped droplets that wouldn't be able to escape from his shredded stomach. His legs were tensed, showing off the corded power that his skin seemed barely able to contained. The arms themselves flexed as he worked his sizable member between his legs, the head flared and angry. Kyle's towel tented out in front of him, his cock hardening with frightening rapidity as he took in the sinful visage before him. His first instinct was to get on his knees, mouth agape as he waited for the fat pearly drops to shoot into his mouth.

Kyle shook his head. There was no way the dude would let him blow him. As horny as he was, he'd rather go back to his locker, get dressed, and leave. It was better that than to risk a crazed gay-panic reaction from a guy that clearly could snap him in half if pushed to it. Even as he slowly retreated, taking care not to make any noise, he burned the image of the jock into his retinas; it wasn't everyday that one came across a stunning representation of the male physique fisting his dick like there was no tomorrow. At best, it could just be a fond memory he revisited when he needed some extra encouragement to finish himself, whether alone or with a guy who wasn't as good in bed as he hoped.

Suddenly, Kyle felt himself flying backwards. He yelled in surprise as he landed on his back in a heap, his shampoo and body wash clattering to the ground from the caddy. His head knocked against the cold cement and he winced. There had been a puddle on the floor that he slipped in while he was busy moving ever-so-stealthily backwards. Kyle first recognized how much it hurt to land on his ass, then remembered the jock in the shower. There was no way he was so caught up in whatever fantasy he needed to help him get off that he didn't hear Kyle.

"Hey, man. You okay?" a deep voice asked him as he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. The guy's face came into view as it eclipsed the fluorescent bulb above them, water dripping off his damp hair onto Kyle's face.

Mortified at his clumsiness, Kyle tried to sit up and get away, but felt light-headed and steadied himself by gripping the man's granite-like bicep. In any other occasion, it would've been a massive turn-on. Kyle shook his head as if that would help clear the dizziness, but instead seemed to make it worse.

"Whoa, there. Might not be a concussion but just take it easy."

Kyle's vision cleared and he looked up to see the jock offer a crooked grin. His eyes flitted downward and Kyle noticed that in his haste to offer help, he didn't even bother to cover himself up; the rigid member was still throbbing, clearly begging for release. Kyle's mouth salivated, a pavlovian response if there ever was one.

The jock noticed where Kyle's eyes locked and he laughed. "Sorry, man. I thought I was alone in here. You take what privacy you can get, you know?"

He wasn't even ashamed of his nudity, and that sent a flare of heat through Kyle. He knew what he had, and clearly didn't mind flaunting it. Kyle couldn't blame him. He pictured the jock strutting through the locker room, towel on his shoulder instead of around his waist, whistling as he pretended not to notice the quick glances of the other guys checking his equipment out and comparing what they had to it. Maybe even some of them wanted to do more than just compare dicks.

"Hey, do I know you?"

"Uh, no." Kyle reddened. Now that Kyle had a good look at the jock's face, he knew where he had seen him before.

"Weren't you at the quad today?"

"No, don't think so."

"Yeah, man! You were one of the guys checking out me and my buddy."

It was true. Earlier that day, Kyle had been sitting at the quad, killing time between classes by fiddling with his phone, when he noticed two guys out of the corner of his eye taking off their shirts. Granted, it was hot, but it was clearly a ploy designed to attract as much female attention as possible. They tossed a football around, talking between themselves with an easy camaraderie, pretending not to notice the quick glances sent their way. Kyle's eyes glued themselves to the two guys, seeing through their thinly-veiled game of catch for what it really was; though it was lazy, he couldn't deny that it worked. He could watch the two studs throwing the ball around all day long as long as they were sweaty and shirtless.

Kyle's preferred stud of the two was the one now crouched next to him, naked as the day he was born.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah. Yeah, that was you. The guys staring stick out more than the girls."

Kyle felt his stomach drop. He didn't want to end up in a bad situation. He needed to get away as quickly as possible before something terrible happened.

"Look, thanks, but I think I need to get going." Kyle made to rise off the ground, the potential of danger clarifying his senses in a way that shaking his head earlier failed to do, but the jock gripped his shoulder firmly, telegraphing that he wanted Kyle to stay seated.

"No, I think you can stay right there." He rose up, standing above Kyle, his still-hard cock now firmly in front of Kyle's face. The jock began stroking it, a clear drop of precum forming at the tip. "Guess it's my lucky day. I've been needing a new cocksucker, and here you are."

Hearing the words sent a delightful vibration down Kyle's spine. He had never been called a cocksucker before, at least not in a way that suggested that the aggravator actually wanted Kyle to suck him off. He made to grip his ramrod-hard dick tenting his towel, but the jock moved Kyle's hand away with his foot. "I don't want to see you get off. You got that?"

"I, uh—"

"Yes or no. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Kyle paused before adding, "Sir." It just came out of him, half out of jest. He didn't know if the jock would react favorably to any perceived sarcasm, but the darkening of his eyes let Kyle know that he did like being called "sir."

"'Sir,' huh?" the jock leered. "Sounds like you know your place."

"Yes, sir."

"You been wanting this cock? You thought all about this piece of meat while I played catch with my bud?"

"Yes, sir." Kyle's mouth watered. He wanted to taste the jock so badly. No—he needed to.

The jock gripped Kyle's head and forced his face against the hard shaft, rubbing Kyle's face all over his cock. Kyle's tongue darted out, savoring whatever taste of the hot flesh he managed to come into contact with. The jock prodded at Kyle's mouth with his tip, saying, "Open up." Kyle was only too willing to let the jock use his mouth in any way he saw fit.

Suddenly, the jock rammed his cock back into Kyle's throat, and Kyle's eyes widened in surprise. He coughed and gagged as tears blurred his vision. Kyle had never heard any complaints about his oral skills before, but this time, it was too much too fast. The jock pulled back and said, "I thought all you faggots didn't have gag reflexes. Better figure it out." He slammed back in, his hands tangled in Kyle's hair and refusing to let up. Kyle squirmed underneath him, unsure which reaction to go with: wildly turned on at being used or scared for what else the jock might use him for. The thick cock went down his throat, cutting off his air, and Kyle quickly took whatever air in he could through his nose.

The near-merciless skullfucking continued without so much as a moan of satisfaction from the jock, just grunts. Kyle tried to look up and take aesthetic pleasure in the scene above him, like focusing on the defined abs as the jock thrust into his mouth, or the sinewed strength of his arms as they held Kyle's head in place, but whatever he gained from the view couldn't outpace the growing discomfort from the brutal assault on his throat. He placed a hand on the jock's tensed calves, hoping that would signal that he needed something less rough, but that only served to egg the jock on further.

Despite his obvious physical distress, Kyle still felt his own cock as rock-hard as ever underneath his towel. He wanted to stroke it for his own release in the hopes that the flood of pleasure would dull the discomfort, but he thought that if the jock saw him do that, he might do worse than nudge his hand away with his foot. He almost wanted to lie back and just let the jock use him to completion, disengaging and going somewhere else in his mind. His mind and body were in complete chaos, confused which sensation to latch onto. The pain and pleasure were so entangled that there was no way to separate the two.

"I'm close," the jock grunted, and tore his cock out of Kyle's mouth. Kyle gasped, the sweet rush of air filling his lungs, and wiped the tears from his eyes as the jock's hand flew over his shaft. The jock gripped the back of Kyle's head, holding him once again in place, and Kyle watched as the first white-hot jet of cum flew out of the tip, tangling itself in his hair. The next shot landed across his forehead and nose. Six or seven shots in total glazed his face, dripping down his face onto his chest and into the towel. His tongue darted out to taste-salty, and a little bitter.

"Be here next week if you want more. Same time. Don't leave until I leave."

The jock left Kyle sitting on the floor, panting and massaging his throat. He heard a locker door open and shut, then held his breath for the open and shut of the heavy locker room doors. The first thing he did was he gripped his still-hard dick tenting his towel; the images of what he had just done flashed across his eyes, and that was enough to set him off. He moaned through his release, globs of cum seeping through the white towel. Kyle knew exactly what he must look like. He pictured the jock standing over him, sneering, "You hungry, desperate cumslut."

Kyle glanced up at a clock on the wall: quarter past one. He would be back on the dot.