Gay Erotic Stories

It was about 8:00 on a Friday night. Most people had long since left the school buildings, and I would have too but for the fact that I had an assignment to finish, which I couldn’t leave over the weekend. Even then, I didn’t feel I could leave without squeezing in an end-of-week session in the school weight room. I was feeling weary, but perhaps a quick muscle pump would re-invigorate me.

You weren’t really supposed to use the school weight room after hours, but I’d gotten special permission from Mr. Connors, the games master. I was one of his best pupils – a regular player on his football team – and I’d gone to him a few months before and said that I wanted to pump myself up a little. I was fit, and lean, with good muscle definition, but I’d seen some of the guys in the fitness magazines and thought how fine their bodies looked – thick, smooth and muscular. Not the outrageously pumped guys from Flex, but the hunky jock-types from the pages of Men’s Workout or Exercise For Men Only. In fact, I’d started buying these magazines regularly, and, I must confess, had one night ended up blowing a load over a picture of one such stud. I suppose I just got myself turned on by the thought of maybe one day having a big body like that.

At just 18 years of age, I couldn’t really afford a proper gym membership, so Mr. Connors, on the quiet, had said I could go in and use the weight room a few nights a week, when everyone had gone home. The facilities were basic, but he scribbled me a few notes on how to get the most from the equipment, and it seemed to be paying dividends. I still had a long way to go before I could compare with the guys in the magazines, but I’d made progress.

In the locker room I changed into my velour gym shorts and school singlet, and wandered along the corridor to the weight room. When I opened the door, I was surprised to find the room occupied. Mr. Connors, clad only in a jockstrap, was pumping his pecs and biceps on the incline bench. He didn’t notice me at first, and I watched him pant through his exertions for a few moments, good honest sweat glistening on his body. Then, spotting me, he stopped, smiled a little sheepishly, and picked up a towel to wipe himself down.

“Hi, Rob, how are you?” Looking down at himself, he added: “I thought I had the place to myself, or I’d have found some kit to put on.”

“That’s all right, sir,” I answered. Don’t apologize, I thought; I’m enjoying the view. Mr. Connors was one hot stud. Usually, in PE lessons, he was clad head to toe in sweats, and though he was obviously a fit man, I’d never realized just what a hunky frame they concealed. He would certainly have not looked out of place on the pages of Men’s Workout, at any rate.

“You’re taking this working out very seriously, Rob, staying behind on a Friday night,” he said, reaching for his water bottle. “The only reason I’m here is that I couldn’t get to the gym last night, and I didn’t want to miss a workout. And I’ve got a date later on tonight, so I just thought I’d squeeze in an hour now here.”

“Yeah, it’s a terrible feeling when you miss a session,” I agreed. “I’ve just stayed back to finish an assignment, and I’m whacked, but I couldn’t go home until I’d done an hour or so in here.”

“That’s the spirit, son,” replied Connors, talking a swig from the bottle. I took in the sight of his body as he threw his head back, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and then feeling my eyes drawn towards another bulge, that in the front of his jock. I could see the outline of a six or seven-inch dick pressed downwards over his balls, and I was quite glad I was wearing loose-fitting shorts as my own cock started to harden in response.

Just then he set the bottle down and rose to continue his workout, and as he turned his back to me I was rewarded with the sight of one of the roundest, tightest pairs of glutes I’d ever seen. I couldn’t help but stare, but quickly averted my eyes as he looked back towards me. “Shall we begin?” he asked me as he installed himself on the squat machine in the corner.

I snapped out of my daydreaming and began exercising on the bench he’d vacated. The room was soon filled with the sounds of us grunting and exhaling as our exertions took their toll; tired as we were at the end of the school week, we kept pumping and changed machines every ten minutes or so. After about half an hour, Mr. Connors got to his feet again, wiped his wet frame down with his towel, and came and stood over me as I completed a set of curls on the preacher bench.

“You’re looking good, Rob,” he said as I ended my set. “Your hard work’s really been paying off. How many times a week have you been coming up here?”

“Three, usually – Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I try and do an hour or so.”

“You’ve really put on some mass by the looks of you. It’s not really been obvious through your football shirt, but wow, look at your biceps! And your pecs! Tell me, did you measure yourself when you started out, like I told you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And have you measured yourself lately?”

“No, sir, I guess I haven’t.”

“Well,” said Connors, enthusiastically. “Let’s see how you stack up. I’ve got a tape measure in the office next door; I’ll be right back.”

He reappeared with the tape after half a minute or so and asked me to stand upright. I did so and he asked me to flex my right biceps. 14” around, said the tape. He then took measurements of my neck and waist: 17” and 30” respectively. Next, he asked me to flex my quads (25” around), before wrapping the tape around my calf (18”). All showed substantial increases from six months before. Finally he asked me to remove my vest so he could take my chest measurement.

He pulled the tape tight around my pecs, just under the nipples, and I sighed. “42 inches,” announced Connors. “Not bad at all.” It felt good to have my big, hot PE teacher measuring my body like this, and he seemed to be getting off on it too. As he put the tape away, he ran a hand over my smooth chest and told me it had taken him much longer to get the same results in his youth.

Feeling emboldened by his blandishments, I asked if he knew his measurements. “No, actually, I haven’t taken them in a while,” he said. “Would you help me out?” It was just what I’d hoped he’d say. “Just lately I have been putting a few more hours in, so…”

He handed me the tape, and I began to measure him as he’d measured me: his biceps (17”), his neck (18”), his waist (32”), his thighs (28”), his calves (21”) and his chest (46”). He was a gorgeous specimen, but his pecs, in particular, were to die for: not the overdeveloped, bouncing tits you see on some gym bodies, but great slabs of hard, cut muscle, topped off with dark nipples, as big as thimbles.

“Oh, I love your pecs, sir,” I drooled, unable to help myself. “Er, I mean, I’d love pecs like yours.”

“Do you, Rob?” said Connors, looking down at my crotch and then straight into my eyes. “Do you really?”

A little shocked by his reply, I could only give a pathetic nod. It was then I realized that my cock was not only fully erect, but also oozing copious amounts of precum, which was making a noticeable wet spot in the front of my velour shorts.

“How much do you love them, Rob?” he went on, moving closer to me. “Why don't you show me how much you love them? They’re all yours.”

He pushed down on the top of my head so that my mouth was level with his right nipple, and instinctively I began to suck on it, drawing it fully into my mouth. He gave a low moan, and I reached for his other nipple with my right hand, pulling at it and feeling it fill with blood. Before long I was licking the whole of his right pec, tasting the sweat and feeling its hardness under my tongue, before moving over to the left.

He then flexed his right arm, and, attracted by its masculine funk, I licked out his armpit, tonguing the hair that grew there. I then coated the biceps itself with my hot saliva, before repeating my moves on his left arm. All the while Connors was gasping with pleasure, obviously delighted by this tongue-worshipping of his body. I looked down to see that his dick was now fully hard; in fact the head and about two further inches had burst out of the side of his jock pouch.

“My ass,” Connors suddenly groaned. “Work on my ass, boy.” He turned around, and I sank to my knees, holding onto the butt straps of his jock. I covered his baby-smooth buttocks with wet kisses, before parting them gently to reveal his pink manhole. I licked round the puckered muscle, and then pushed up beyond it with my tongue. I’d never done anything like this before, but I seemed instinctively to know how to please him, and I liked the raunchy taste that I discovered deep in his ass. He grunted his pleasure, and I pushed him further towards the edge by reaching between his legs and massaging his big sweaty balls, swollen in their tight sac.

Ready now to have me make him come, Connors swung around and slid his jock down his thighs, revealing a cock swollen to its full nine inches and dripping ropes of precum. He gripped my shoulders urgently, and I lapped at the purple head, licking off the silvery fluid, before taking the head in my mouth and letting my saliva run down the length of the shaft. It was a huge piece of equipment, and I wondered how much I was going to be able to take down my throat. I went down on him as far as I could, brushing the bulging veins roughly with the edge of my mouth, until my nose was just nudging against his bush. Coming back up to suck on just the head again, I only had to repeat this motion a few times before his face turned crimson and he began to shout.

“I’m gonna cum!” he bellowed. “I’m gonna blow my big creamy load in your fucking face!” He was still in my mouth when the first, biggest and creamiest spurt came flying out, and then, pulling out, he shot the rest of his glorious man milk over my cheeks and up into my hair.

It took us both a good couple of minutes to catch our breath. Then Connors drew me to my feet, took me in his big strong arms and began to lick his own cum off my face. When he’d cleaned me off, he pressed his lips to mine in a long, sensuous kiss, and smiled.

“I think we’d better hit the showers, Rob,” he whispered. “It’s almost half-nine, and they’ll be round to lock up at ten.

“Half-nine? What about your date?”

Connors laughed. “Forget it. I don’t think the lady in question will be half as much fun as you’ve been tonight.”

Extending his hand to me, he led me out of the weight room, pulling up his jock and picking up my sweaty vest from the floor on the way. On entering the locker room, I peeled off my damp velour shorts while Connors strode into the communal shower stall and turned on the water.

“Come on in, Rob,” I heard him shout. “It’s nice and hot.”

I stood next to Connors under the same jet and let the water cover me. As I closed my eyes, Connors lathered up a bar of soap in his hands and started to massage the foam over my body. His touch felt divine. He rubbed the soap over the shoulders and down my back before cupping my ass cheeks in his big hands, and slowly dragging a finger up through my crack. He then lifted my arms to work the lather into my armpits, and then worked down my torso with circular hand movements to where my cock, which was still hard from the muscle worship session, stuck proudly out from my wet bush.

Connors, still behind me, pressed my back against his chest with his left arm and took my seven inches in his right hand. He stroked me gently, causing the head to bulge and redden even more, and precum to start seeping out again. I had been hard for over an hour without getting to cum, and I was desperate for release. “Make me cum, sir,” I begged.

Connors began an expert hand-job, grasping my shaft tightly and pumping up and down on it, causing me to shudder with pleasure. Leaning back, I turned my face to his and locked lips with him, feeling him thrust his tongue aggressively into my mouth as my cock pulsed and throbbed in his grip. By that point it only took a few tugs on my right nipple to send me over the edge, and, with a roar, I shot more powerfully than ever before, six or seven jets of hot jism hitting the tiled wall in front of me.

When I’d recovered, we both quickly finished washing, toweled ourselves off, stuffed our dirty kit into our bags and stole off just before the caretaker came round to lock up.

But the evening didn’t end there. Having stood up his date, Connors had a free evening, and as we walked towards the car park, he told me he’d like nothing better than to spend it with me. And, believe me, I couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

To be continued…