He shoved me against the lockers hard enough that the metal rattled. "On your knees, faggot," he growled, already yanking his shorts down. His cock sprang out thick and half-hard, veined and heavy, the head already glistening. I tried to turn away but his hand clamped the back of my neck like a vise. "Open that fucking mouth or I tell everyone what you were staring at in the showers."
My knees hit the cold tile before I could think. The gym was empty this late, just the hum of the lights and the smell of sweat and bleach. His cock slapped my cheek, leaving a wet streak. "Suck it," he ordered, voice low and mean. I shook my head once.
He didn't ask again. Both hands gripped my hair and he drove forward, forcing the fat head past my lips. The taste hit me sharp and salty, skin hot and musky. I gagged as he pushed deeper, the ridge of his cockhead scraping my tongue until it bumped the back of my throat.
"Fuck yeah, take it," he grunted, hips snapping. He used my mouth like a hole, short brutal thrusts that made my eyes water. Spit spilled down my chin and dripped onto the floor. Every time I tried to pull back he yanked me forward again, burying more of his cock until my nose pressed into the coarse hair at the base. My throat convulsed around him. He held me there, balls tight against my chin, until I thought I'd pass out. Then he let me up just enough to breathe before slamming back in.
"Look at you," he said, voice rough with pleasure. "Cocksucker. Bet you've been wanting this." Tears ran down my face but my own dick was rock hard in my shorts, straining against the fabric. He noticed and laughed, kicking my knees wider apart so I couldn't hide it. "Yeah, you fucking love it. Suck harder or I'll make it worse."
I hollowed my cheeks, trying to ease the pressure, but he only fucked my face faster. Wet choking sounds filled the locker room. His cock swelled even thicker on my tongue, pulsing. Precum flooded my mouth with every thrust. He pulled out suddenly, strings of spit connecting my lips to his glistening shaft. "Tongue out," he snapped. I did it. He slapped his cock against it, heavy and wet, then shoved back in balls-deep.
My jaw ached. Drool soaked my shirt. He used one hand to pinch my nose shut while he held me impaled, forcing me to swallow around him just to breathe. The other hand reached down and squeezed my hard-on through my shorts. "Look at this pathetic little dick getting off on being used." He squeezed tighter. I moaned around his cock and he groaned in response, hips jerking.
He pulled out again, this time dragging me by the hair to the bench. "Bend over it." When I hesitated he slapped my face with his cock, leaving a sticky print. I bent. He ripped my shorts down and kicked my legs apart. But he didn't fuck my ass. Instead he circled around and fed his cock back into my mouth from the front, using the angle to go even deeper. My head hung off the bench while he stood over me and thrust straight down my throat. Every stroke bottomed out. I could feel his balls slap my nose.
"Swallow every drop," he warned, voice tight. His rhythm broke into short, desperate pumps. Then he was coming, thick hot spurts flooding my throat. I had no choice but to gulp it down or choke. He kept pumping until the last twitch, then pulled out slow, wiping his cock across my lips to smear the mess. "Clean it," he ordered. I licked him obediently, tasting cum and spit until he was shiny and soft.
He stepped back, breathing hard, and looked down at the obvious wet spot in my shorts. "You came in your pants like a bitch," he said, almost amused. "Next time you'll swallow it straight from the tap without the attitude." He pulled his shorts up, left me there on the bench with cum on my chin and my own load cooling against my thigh. The door slammed behind him. I stayed on my knees a long minute, throat raw, mouth still tasting him, dick already twitching again at the thought of next time.
