Erotic story: JS Gym part 3

By Xavier Stewart Belle. Part 1 and 2 here.

When I got back with the towels, Aaron wasn’t in front of his locker, so I followed the sound of the showers. I walked past the shiny streaks I’d shot all over the bench and found him standing with his back to me at the far end of the showers. An hour ago I’d stumbled across this same sight and the thrill of that illicit peak had pushed me into recklessness. Now I watched him casually, sure that watching was within my rights. I admired him, savored my access and the implicit trust of his nakedness. It mixed with the calm of my afterglow to smother my anxiety that my clothes were still out of reach in Aaron’s locker.

When Aaron turned around I admired the plane of taught skin that stretched from his chest down over his muscled core to the thatch of dark hair between his legs. His dick hung heavy there, still thick from use, and I watched a stream of water slide down him and fall from its arrow-tipped head. I watched until he wiped his face and saw me. He reached out to his left and turned on the shower head next to him.

I stood still for just a moment, then tossed the towels I held onto the bench beside me. I’d already shampooed and rinsed enough for this week and the next, but his invitation seemed too intimate to refuse, like a lover holding the covers back on a Saturday morning.

As I stepped under the warm water I turned to face Aaron. He reached between his legs and soaped himself casually, stroking now and then while he walked his eyes up and down my body. I pushed the water around my chest, up my arms and over my shoulders as I bathed in his gaze. Neither of us said anything. I was happy to let him watch as long as he liked. I’d gotten what I wanted, for the moment at least, and even the chill walk from the locker room to grab towels hadn’t wiped away my lingering afterglow. So we shared the shower and long appraising looks, while the silence of the empty gym wrapped around us.

When Aaron had seen enough he turned the water off for both of us and I followed him back to the lockers. We toweled off in companionable silence. When I finished, I waited for him to open his locker, eager to get into something warmer. When Aaron finished he hung his towel around his shoulders and put his hands on his hips.

After considering my nakedness for a few long seconds he looked up at my face.

“What?” he asked.

I resisted the frown that gathered on my forehead.

“I need my clothes,” I said.

He frowned back at me but didn’t move. “You got somewhere to be?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. I couldn’t quite read his tone. It sounded casual, curious, much different from the forceful man who had herded me back into the gym from the parking lot. Did that man still lurk beneath this superficial tone? Did he still feel like he had a claim over me? In the space of a breath I wondered how long he might want to keep me there. My roommates we’re gone until the weekend and I’d already had an early dinner with my family. No one was expecting me. He could keep me here until Friday if he wanted to. I began to wonder if we would we still be there in the morning, exhausted, emptied, when the sun rose. I looked down at his member. Anxious, but intrigued. What could we get up to for that long?

“Or,” Aaron said, beginning to tug and knead his shaft with a loose hand, “are you all used up?”

Despite my anxiety I almost smiled. It was a juvenile challenge, but I couldn’t deny that I’d only gotten off once that day. I had another round in me. At least one. Maybe two. But in the lull between erections my mind operated in a higher, more analytical gear. I didn’t like that I couldn’t get at my clothes and I desperately wanted to get at the key to the doors.

So I shrugged.

“I’m cold,” I said, hedging.

“No problem,” he said. “Here.”

He picked up one of the dry towels still laying on the bench and stood to face me. He wrapped the fabric around my waist, his face radiating heat against my chest, then tucked one corner in against my stomach. His knuckles were cool against my skin and his finger tips scratched against the hair above my dick.

“There we go,” he said. He took the towel I held in my hand and settled it over my shoulders. “Cozy?”

I didn’t answer. Was he mocking me?

“You’re welcome,” he said. He turned and started walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to look around,” he said over his shoulder.

“Around where?”

“Just around.” He was halfway down the bank of lockers.

“At what? Why?”

“Why not?”

I didn’t answer. Was that an edge in his voice, or had I imagined it?

He banged a knuckle on a locker as he passed.

“Maybe I want to jerk off on something expensive,” he said.

The last cooling shreds of my afterglow faded. I thought I had lucked out, that my invasion of his privacy had transformed into this unexpected adventure and after a fuck we’d go our separate ways, but my stomach knotted as Aaron disappeared around the end of a row of lockers. I hadn’t predicted this strange second wind. Why would he want to explore an empty gym? My stomach dropped as another thought settled over me. What if he wanted to stay all night? What if he started messing with the equipment? What if he wouldn’t let me leave? My anxiety flared as I heard the faint hiss of the locker room door swinging shut and my concerns became more immediate and practical. What if he started turning on the lights?

I jogged after him.

I relaxed slightly when I found him standing in front of the equipment room, not far from the front desk. He stood there, naked, a faint silhouette dyed red by the emergency exit sign next to the desk. I considered what I might do if he started wandering somewhere he shouldn’t, but then the absurdity of that concern stuck me. We shouldn’t have been there at all. Where could he go that would any more a violation?

Aaron turned to look at me. He smiled, his face open, guyish, as his eyes dipped to the towel I held around my waist with one hand. He turned back to the dark cavern of the equipment room and pulled his own towel from his shoulders. He balled it up and lobbed it forward into the darkness, watching, arms held high like a basketball player, until it draped soggily over a stair climber.

“Guys always used to work out naked, you know,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides.

I stared at his broad back, imagined I could just see the thin patch of hair above his ass.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Yeah. All the time.”


“Greece,” he said. “Too bad we don’t anymore.”

I didn’t bother with a response and he didn’t wait for one. He walked toward the machines and when the darkness made his outline hazy, I followed. When he sat down at a machine I moved up to stand next to him. He had his legs spread, his balls laying on the soft plastic cushion and his dick resting on top. As I watched, he started doing chest flyes.

“Hot, right?” He didn’t look at me as he brought his arms forward in front of his face.

It wasn’t, really. Maybe it was the trough that followed an hour of tension and sexual frenzy, but all I felt watching Aaron’s chest stretch and bulge was a vague irritation. The intimacy of the showers had faded. I no longer felt the thrill of getting fucked in a public place usually filled with sweating men. I didn’t want to see if I had another round in me. I was cold, I wanted my clothes, and I wanted that key so I could leave before something else went wrong.

I looked at the stair climber Aaron had turned into a towel rack.

“Would probably be uncomfortable,” I said. “Things would be slapping around, getting twisted. What if you got caught in something?”

“Caught in something?” Aaron continued his flyes without looking at me.

I gestured vaguely with one hand at the front of my towel.

“Lots of wires and gears around here.”

Aaron pulled the bars forward a few more times, then let the machine reset. He stood up.

“Maybe,” he said. “Free weights might be a better idea.”

He brushed past me, leaning closer than necessary to get by, but didn’t touch me. I watched him walk toward the dark hallway leading to the weight room. I sighed and followed.

As I followed I considered the rows of machines that stood in the dark waiting for riders, runners, and lifters. I imagined them filled with naked men, hard, sweating, revealed in their muscled glory.

The thought had occurred to me before, had probably occurred to every adolescent who’d ever set foot in a gym–and many who hadn’t–but I wasn’t interested in seeing it come true. Catching a glimpse of a man in the showers, appraising his assets in an unguarded moment on the boundary line of public space and private intimacy, that was one thing, but nakedness during a workout seemed much less exciting.

The various uniforms found in a gym, the shirts and shorts, the tank tops, or even bare chests and compression pants, they all stimulated the imagination, primed the mind for an encounter with the impossible: a peek beneath that sweat soaked fabric. If you couldn’t see a guy’s package because a thin layer of water wicking cloth concealed it, the mind automatically granted it mythic proportions, a pleasing shape, the perfect heft.

But it was more than tasty. An athlete’s exertions on the treadmill or under a set of weights revealed a masculine vigor that soaked out into everything he wore. His clothing became a focal point for every denied sense. What would it feel like to run your hand across the back of his sweat soaked shirt, or to bury you face in his lap and smell the heat tapped there? What do his abs look like as they strain and curl together? How does his neck taste before he pulls a towel across it, wiping away the little streaks and drops of perspiration? Everything concealed or denied is magnified, and a gym filled with men not naked, but half dressed, with a mystery swinging between each set of legs, becomes a wonderland of possibility. But if you take the clothes away and ask a man to sprint a mine…

I thought of Aaron just a few moments before, naked on the machine, boastful, revealed. Despite the pleasure I’d pulled out of him so recently, after the fires of my anxiety and anticipation had died the reality of him in that moment seemed soft, wilted, even faintly ridiculous.

I almost bumped into Aaron at the end of the unlit hallway. I could hear him running his hands along the wall.

“Where are the lights?”

I didn’t say anything. I listened to his palms rasp unseen against the walls, searching.

“Hey, help me out.”


The rasping stopped. My stomach rose into my throat. I hadn’t meant to say it. I’d planned to play along until he got bored, until he decided an empty gym wasn’t so much fun after all, but his casual tone had pulled the defiance out of me without a thought.

When he spoke again I could feel his breath as a presence on my face.

“Well that’s a shitty tone,” he said. His voice was flat, emotionless.

He stepped even closer and I could smell him, his breath, the soap on his skin. He only had an inch or two on me, but it felt like he towered above me up into the dark. I felt childish, suddenly, wrapped in my wet towels while he stood in naked and commanding just in front of me.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

He kept his voice low, soft, but its depth washed over me, soaking into my chest. My heart beat faster. I tried to look at him but his face was just inches from mine and I couldn’t see his eyes. I looked down in the direction of his chest, feeling small before his shrouded nakedness.


“No,” I said. “No problem.”

“Aren’t you having fun?”

I said nothing.

“Turn the lights on” he said, “and you can get another eye full. That’s what you like, isn’t it? Watching?”

His fingers dug into the fold of my towel where it had begun to sag just above my dick. He made a fist and pulled me forward so that the side of my face met his.

“Or are you ready for another round already?”

His breath heated my ear and his voice sent tremors down my neck. I pulled in a breath and my dick began to press against the inside of my towel.

“You want me to open you up some more?”

He pulled his hand away and my towel fell to the floor. Using both hands he turned me around, then pushed me against the wall like he had out by the front doors. I braced myself with both hands against the cold paint. He cupped my balls with one hand, then dragged his middle finger back until he found my hole.

“You still ready for me?”

His finger scrapped softly against me, caressing the loose ring of muscle.

“You still holding it inside?” He pressed lightly and his finger to sank in. “Both of us?”

I gasped as he slid his finger in all the way to the fist. He screwed it around, twice, three times, and I grunted as he probed. My frustration disappeared. In its place came a surge of adrenaline and my world shrank to a mental image of his body, muscled and poised behind mine. I wondered if he was hard. Would he take me here like he had out by the front doors? I imagined what we would look like to someone standing at the end of the hallway, two shapes thrusting, groaning, panting as skin slapped against skin. Would they see on his face the expression I had seen while he watched me in the showers?–hungry, possessive, intent.

He pulled his finger out.

“Still warm and wet,” he said. Then his voice lightened. “We’ve got time.”

I stood frozen for a moment, that guyish tone clashing with my conjured image of a lustful man bent over my waiting ass. The inconsistency made me angry. Either he wanted me, wanted to fill the gym with the sounds of our fucking, or he was just some guy holding me hostage so he could play in an empty gym.

I pushed myself away from the wall and bent my knees. I was rewarded with the feeling of the head of his dick pressing against the cold skin of my ass. I pulled away slightly, then pressed backward again, trying to spear myself on his thickness.

He let me search for a few moments, then slipped his finger back inside.

“Can’t wait to get it out of me, can you?”

I grunted as he fingered the bulb behind my dick and spikes of pleasure radiated out along my thighs.

“But I’m gonna make you work for it.”

I grunted as he continued working his finger around inside me, pushing back at him to open myself up even more.

He pressed his chin against my ear. Then he drifted his nose along my neck and inhaled.

“You’re all clean–” he slipped another finger into my loose, slick hole, “–mostly, but I want to see you sweat. I want to smell you.”

He pulled his fingers out, and I felt the head of his dick replace them at my entrance as he moved his fist up and down the shaft, covering it with the wetness he had pulled out of me.

“Maybe then I’ll let you have it again.”

Without a word I thrust my ass backward. His dick plunged inside and his fist was caught between us. Wasting no time, I began to grind my ass against him in firm, slow circles.

Aaron laughed, but didn’t move. I ignored him. I pressed back harder when he took his fist away, then began to pump myself back and forth on his thickness. I tensed my ass around the sensation of him, of his wide dick gliding in and out of me.

Aaron grunted and began thrusting forward to meet me and I thought I had him, but then he laughed again and pulled out.

I jumped as he brought his fingers down in a stinging slap on my ass.

“Man!” he said. “Where’d this come from?”

He stepped up close again and spoke against my ear as he shoved a finger back inside me.

“Where was all this fight before?”

I grunted as his finger speared into me.

He reached around and gripped my dick in his other hand, squeezing it, and I could feel it grow huge and purple. He dragged his tongue along my neck, then closed his teeth lightly on my ear.

“I like it,” he said, and his dick throbbed against the left side of my ass.

And then he pulled away. Again.

“Now, where are the lights?”

I let him feel his way around after the lights for a few seconds while pulled myself together. Then I pushed off the wall, walked past him, and turned along the edge of the midnight room until I judged I’d gotten probably half way across. I put my hand out to the wall and continued on until the panel caught my fingers. I swiped up and ceiling lights on the far side of the room flickered to life.

Aaron, emerging from the still-dark hallway, put his hands on his hips, his dick bouncing in front of him.

“Was that so hard?”

I turned and walked to the far end of the room. When I got to the opposite wall I faced him, crossed my arms, and waited.

Aaron walked toward me at his own casual pace.

I considered his swings between growling dominator and curious, guyish instigator. He liked to be in charge, that was obvious, but it he also liked a challenge, to prod and push and incite. I watched him come forward me, winding his way through the racks and benches.

He stopped in front of the a rack as tall as he was and looked me in the eye.

“Maybe you need to burn off some of that aggression,” he said. “How much do you squat?”

I hesitated, let my eyes move down his body to linger on his thighs, then met his gaze.

“About as much as you, probably,” I said. “At least.”

Aaron raised both eyebrows. “Think so?”

I mimicked his tone, raised a matching brow. “Think I can’t?”

He snorted and turned away from me. “Don’t care.”

He set a bar on the rack and loaded it up, sliding a plate on each side. They were large plates, thin, but with an unusually large diameter, and when he’d secured them in place he lifted it with a grunt and came to stand in front of me.

“Spread your legs,” he said.

I did.

“A little wider,” he said.

Frowning, I opened the gap between my legs until it was a little wider than my shoulders.

“There we go.” He put the bar on the floor in front of me. “Alright,” he nodded at me, ” “up it goes.”

I stared at the bar, then at him. His dick, if possible, looked like it was getting harder, his heart beat making it bounce. I thought about the showers, the way he had watched and stroked, savoring an impossible scenario, and I resigned myself to another performance.

I reached down and gripped the bar, bending at the knees. My stance was a little wider than I liked, but it was manageable and with a quick grunt I had the bar up, then at my chest, then over my head to rest on my shoulders. Eric wouldn’t be happy with my technique, but the bar was lighter than I expected and what Eric didn’t know wouldn’t hurt my chances of a Stress Relief fuck the next time we trained. Staring past Aaron, I lowered myself into a squat, then pushed up again.

“Nice,” Aaron said. “Now hold it.”

He stepped close, his face almost meeting mine, then sank to the floor. Carefully, without hitting my legs, he laid on his back and shimmied himself between my feet until he his chest was between my knees.

“That doesn’t seem safe at all,” I said, trying to maintain my form while I looked down at him.

“Probably not,” he said, laying down flat. “Better not drop that.”

“And if I do?”

“Worth the risk,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“By the end of your first set I bet those loads are going to start working their back back out of you. I want to see if I can catch some on my dick.”

I glared at the far wall, trying to reconcile his playful tone with the lurid act he’d set us up to perform.

“And,” Aaron said, drawing the word out with a rising note, “go!”

I ignored the little goading slap he landed on my calf and stood straight for a few seconds longer, trying to decide if I was actually going to do this.

I was, I decided, if it meant I got my clothes back faster.

During first two squats I clenched reflexively and Aaron’s load stayed sealed inside me. The third time I lowered my ass toward Aaron’s waiting dick he reached up and grazed my hole with a finger. The fourth time he pushed at it slightly. I clenched my teeth as I descended the fifth time, then grunted as his finger plunged in. I could feel him grinning at me as I lurched, momentarily unable to coordinate my leg muscles into upward motion. When I finally managed to stand, I used the momentum to lift the bar up over my head in one fluid motion, then let the weight of the falling bar pull me back down. Aaron brought his arms up reflexively to catch the bar descending toward his chest and when his fingers closed around the bar I let it go. It slammed into the floor, pinning his arms to his sides and his hands against the edges of his chest. I watched his face as the bar landed. His eyes widened in surprise, but not with pain. Satisfied, I squatted quickly over him and reached beneath my legs. I gripped his shaft, angled it, then sank down with one swift motion and impaled myself on it.

Aaron grunted, the noise slipping out through his nose just before his lips parted. I wasted no time. With quick, short bounces that slapped my ass hard against the skin of his hips, I began to ride him. I looked him in the face while I fucked myself up and down on his shaft, watched his surprise fade into a small smile. He began to buck under me, rising up to meet my ass with each stroke. Soon his mouth opened wider and a frown of concentration appeared on his forehead. I increased my pace. He held his hips up off the floor, straining to angle himself all the way into me. After a long series of thrusts, Aaron let himself lay flat again on the mat.

“Hold up,” he said.

I leaned forward on the bar to give myself better leverage, then increased my pace, my thighs burning.

“Stop,” he said, a little breathless, “I’m close.”

I ignored him, bouncing faster, landing harder, until his hips drove me forward with a sudden surge. I lost my balance as I tipped forward, but caught myself on the bar. When I leaned back away from him, trying to regain my balance, he brought his feet down on my shoulders, then trapped my face between his feet and straightened his legs. Caught off guard, I began to topple backward. I threw my hands out behind me to break my fall, but couldn’t keep Aaron’s dick from sliding out of me.

I landed hard on my back and it took me a few seconds to realize Aaron was laughing.

“You’re a hungry fucker, aren’t you?” he said. “That was close. You almost got me.”

I propped myself up on my elbows to look at him across the combined length of our prostrate bodies.

“That was hot,” he said, letting his head loll on the mat, then he used his forearms to roll the bar up past his head. It bounced once as it rolled off the mat then came to rest with a clang against a rack.

Freed, Aaron pumped his dick a few times, grunted, tweaked the head of his dick, then let it spring free. As he climbed to his feet his dick stood out straight before him, bouncing slightly, shiny with the load he’d left inside me.

“Alright,” he said. “Where next?”

“What are you talking about?” I got to my feet and stood to face him, angry at his inexplicable laughter, angry at the the wetness dripping from my ass and cooling on the inside of my thighs, angry that this entire situation made my dick hard enough to hang a weight on.

“Where do we fuck next?

More games. I clenched my teeth.

I ran quickly through the options in my mind. Not the sauna. It was cold now, and cliched besides. We’d already covered the locker room, almost literally, and he looked like he wanted a surprise. One of the machines out front? Something close to the window, but not too close? Eric never let us go anywhere we might be seen. He had a reputation to protect, a career, but maybe Aaron had an exhibitionist streak. Or maybe…

And I knew. I almost smiled. Then, as the idea settled in my mind and I looked into Aaron’s expectant face, I did smile.

“J’s office.”

Aaron opened his mouth, maybe to object, maybe to offer an idea of his own, but then he stopped, his lips parted, and he considered the idea. He frowned.


I shrugged, still smiling. “Because we shouldn’t.”

And Aaron smiled a smile that showed all of his teeth. “Let’s go,” he said.

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