Wrestling Tim

Snow blanketed the benches and trees around the lake. It seemed almost eerie without the crowd of students, who gathered there, on warmer days. Somehow, sitting in the library, gazing at the lake, rather than the book in front of me, made me feel productive.

A hooded figure broke the stillness of winter outside. His form was solid and his stride strong. He was on the college rugby team for sure, his navy blue hoodie, reserved for team players only.

Who wears shorts on a day that cold? Only someone with thighs that impressive! With each step his quads expanded and rippled, I thought they might rip the cotton asunder.

It only took a brief look at his ass, and I was certain it was Tim. The view of him from behind: his wide hulking frame, filling his gym hoodie, his powerful glutes, hamstrings and calf muscles. The power between those legs!

He drew closer to the building, his navy Nike trainers leaving size 10 footprints in the snow. I savoured every step, knowing he would soon fade from my view.

Any remote chance of study was gone now, Tim had my heart pounding again. I was stuck at my desk with a mighty hard on. There was no disguising it, in my grey track bottoms.

I was still staring out the window at his footprints, when his trainers landed on the desk beside me. 'sorry their wet from the fucking snow, shouldn't have worn canvas, the heat will dry them here I hope!'

That's confidence right there, putting his smelly trainers on my desk. To make it worse, he had his feet on the desk too. I could understand his logic, the heating unit was over the desk, just under the window, it took some degree of cockiness though, to dominate my space, with his feet!

Someone else might have objected or moved, but Tim's smell drew me in, like some kind of drug. It was a sweaty jock smell, with all the bitterness you would expect.

His feet were beautifully athletic, genetics had been kind to Tim, strong arches, perfectly formed toes and a thickness, signalling strength. I couldn't tell if the stains on his ankle socks were sweat or snow residue, but I felt a desire to get closer to his feet.

I tried not to study his incredible legs but the temptation was too strong: Sheer physical beauty, sculpted with slabs of muscle, hairy, impressive, and fierce looking.The scratches and bruises on his shins, a testament to his athleticism.

Not a book in sight, Tim wasn't there to study. My desk, was his sweet spot, to thaw out from the snow. Bait for me too, as though he planned to tease me. My cock was erect and drilled into the desk above me. If I moved I might have exploded.

I figured I'd try to engage him:

'how did you get soaked like that?'

'I cycled in and wrecked my trainers in that snow'

'A bit cold for shorts maybe Tim?

'I don't get cold, have all this muscle to stay warm, ha'.

He took the opportunity to flex his thighs. He was proud of them. It didn't take him long to strip off his hoodie, he wore a black Gymshark muscle t shirt underneath. Maybe it wasn't muscle fit, maybe all that popping and bulging was his natural build? It was impressive, his bouldered shoulders, deep chest, ball like vascular biceps, all solid, lean, muscle.

Tim was a physical 'beast', handsome too, manly, but youthful looking for age twenty. His hair was brownish and black in places, cut short on his head, his eyes blue grey, his expression tough and attractive. His grin broad and confident. His voice deep and authoritative.

I studied him in detail: his freckles, his neat ears, his small nose, his strong neck, his stubble. He was charming too, joking about his 'wet feet' and how he was going to have to attend an interview with the year head, in ten minutes, in that condition! The interview was important, he needed to pass it, to advance to the modules, he wanted.

'Tim, why the fuck are you wearing shorts to an interview?'

'Im on an athletic scholarship you know, rub it in, remind him I'm getting wins for the college!

'yeah clever, tell you what, I'll let you borrow my gym socks, their fresh, haven't gone to the gym yet, I'll train without them. Might be a bit big for you Tim, I'm more like a 12, you're feet look like a 10?'

'Exactly 10, but I'm big, where it counts man!'

He pointed down to his crotch, and sure enough there was an impressive bulge, under those shorts. He flexed his bicep right into my face to make his point. I was impressed, his split bicep, the sheer mass of muscle in that arm, the shape, the vigorous veins.

That exchange, was erotic for both of us. There was no denying a chemistry was at work, a mutual lust for his physical perfection. I didn't imagine it, his shorts swelled and I was on the edge of ejaculation.

I remember my tongue hanging out, as he put my socks on his feet, a subconscious attempt to lick him, maybe?

Something clamped me, by the neck, something swelled into my face, it got stronger and deeper. I heard him whisper 'submit...submit...submit'. Tim had me headlocked, his bicep choking me, his grip was steel like, his power and control total, I obeyed! He wrestled me down on the desk so my face was on his wet socks, he kept me there, staring down at me, with a cocky confident grin. He looked so powerful and handsome. My body erupted with stimulation, firing jets of cum, soaking my jocks and track bottoms, staining the bottom of the desk above me. It was utterly orgasmic.

If we hadn't been in the library, if he hadn't that interview, he would have kept me there longer, I'm certain of that. I had been so dominated by him, I'd lost all awareness of my surroundings.

I dreaded turning around, what if someone saw him dominate me or even worse saw me enjoy it, cum to it? It all seemed so strange, this lad I hardly knew had forced his feet on me, wrestled me, submitted me, taken my socks and trainers and I found it sexually stimulating! The library was empty, I felt so relieved.

Tim exited, proudly, wearing my socks and trainers. He left me with his wet socks and a wet cock!

I was exhausted, overwhelmed, confused and elated. What had Tim just done to me, why was I so turned on by him?