Arrogant Bodybuilder Makes Me Beg For His Cock

The fluorescent lights of the empty locker room hummed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the rows of metal benches and half-open lockers. Grant stood in front of the full-length mirror, still in his tight black training shorts and the thin white tank top that strained across his chest. At twenty-eight, the personal trainer had spent years carving himself into something deliberately overwhelming—six-foot-four of dense, vascular muscle that made ordinary men look unfinished. His shoulders rolled like boulders when he moved. His arms were thick as thighs, veins snaking down from the delts to the thick wrists. He caught his own reflection and smirked, running a palm slowly over the hard plane of his abs where the fabric clung damply to oiled skin.

Errol hovered near the opposite row of lockers, twenty-five and already half-hard from the hour of watching Grant put clients through brutal sets. The younger man had come in three times a week for months now, always timing it so their sessions overlapped. Weeks of flirty gym banter had stretched into something electric and unfinished. Grant knew exactly what Errol wanted. He had seen the hungry stares locked on the heavy swing of his cock inside those shorts, the way Errol’s tongue flicked over his lower lip whenever Grant stretched or posed between sets.

“You’re still here,” Grant said without turning, voice low and amused. He rolled his shoulders again, deliberately flexing so the trap muscles rose into thick shelves. “Most guys clear out the second I’m done yelling at them. But you stick around like a puppy waiting for scraps.”

Errol’s cheeks flushed. He shifted his weight, gym bag dangling forgotten from one hand. “Just... cooling down. That last set looked brutal.”

Grant finally turned. The tank top rode up a fraction, flashing a strip of carved oblique and the deep V-cut that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. He reached down without shame and adjusted the heavy bulge that sat thick and obvious against his left thigh, giving it a slow squeeze that made the outline jump. Errol’s eyes dropped instantly. Grant watched the younger man’s throat work as he swallowed.

“Cooling down,” Grant repeated, stepping closer until the scent of his skin—musk, coconut oil, clean sweat—filled the space between them. “Or standing there with your mouth watering because you’ve been staring at my cock for six weeks straight.” He flexed one arm casually, bicep peaking hard and round. “Go on. Say it. Tell me how bad you want it.”

Errol’s breath hitched. The locker room was completely empty now; the last client had left ten minutes ago and the door to the gym floor was shut. Heat prickled across Errol’s chest. “I... fuck. Yeah. I want it. You know I do.”

“Not good enough.” Grant’s smirk widened. He turned sideways to the mirror again, popping both pecs so they jumped under the thin fabric, then hooked a thumb under the hem of his tank and lifted it just enough to flash the deep groove down the center of his abs. “I’ve watched you get hard every single time I finish a set and stand over you while you catch your breath. You think I don’t feel those eyes on my package when I walk past? Be specific, Errol. Tell me what you want to do to this body.”

Errol’s voice came out rough. “I want to suck your cock. Christ, Grant, it’s huge. Every time you adjust it I can see the head pushing against the shorts. I think about dropping down right there on the gym floor and taking it out.”

Grant laughed, low and pleased. He peeled the tank top upward in one smooth motion, the fabric catching briefly on the swollen width of his chest before sliding free. He tossed it onto the bench. Under the lights his torso gleamed—skin still slick from the oil he’d rubbed in earlier so every ridge of muscle caught the fluorescent glare. Pecs sat high and thick, nipples dark and tight. A dense ladder of abs stacked down to the deep cuts at his hips. Veins rose along his arms and across the upper plane of his chest like ropes under skin. He rolled his shoulders again, making everything shift and bunch, then reached down and gave his cock another slow stroke through the shorts, letting Errol watch the thick shaft thicken further until the head was clearly outlined.

“There it is,” Grant murmured. “Look at you. Flushed like a virgin. You’ve been dying for this.” He stepped even closer, close enough that Errol could feel the heat radiating off the big body. Grant’s hand slid down his own stomach, fingers tracing the V-lines, then hooked the waistband of the shorts and tugged them lower so a few more inches of the dark trail of hair and the thick base of his cock were visible. The rest of the heavy length stayed trapped, but the outline was shameless now—long, girthy, already half-hard and heavy. “You only get a taste if you earn it. On your knees. Beg like the eager little cock-worshipper you are. I want to hear exactly how much you crave this dick.”

Errol’s pulse hammered in his throat. His own cock strained painfully against his shorts. He dropped the gym bag. The concrete floor was cool under his knees as he sank down, looking up the towering length of Grant’s body—the massive quads stretching the shorts, the carved trunk of the torso, the arrogant tilt of that handsome face. Up close the smell of Grant’s skin was stronger, warm and masculine. Errol’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides, aching to touch.

“Please,” Errol started, voice already cracking. “Grant, fuck, I’ve wanted your cock in my mouth for weeks. It’s so thick. I keep imagining how it would stretch my lips, how heavy it would feel on my tongue. I want to taste the precum that’s already leaking into those shorts. I want to get it all the way down my throat until my nose is buried in that trail of hair. Please let me suck it. I’ll be so good for it. I’ll worship every inch.”

Grant’s smirk didn’t soften. He flexed again, one arm curling so the bicep swelled obscenely above Errol’s face, veins standing out sharp. With his other hand he kept slowly stroking the outline of his cock, rolling his hips just enough to make the heavy meat sway inside the fabric. “Keep going. I like hearing you degrade yourself for it. Tell me how badly you need to choke on this bodybuilder cock. Tell me you’ve jerked off thinking about these muscles pinning you down while I use your mouth.”

Errol’s thighs trembled. He licked his lips, eyes locked on the thick ridge that now tented the front of Grant’s shorts almost obscenely. “I have. Every night. I think about you standing over me just like this, all that muscle, knowing how fucking hot you are. I think about begging until my voice is gone. I want you to tease me with it first—rub that fat head across my lips, make me ask for every inch. I need it so bad my balls ache. Please, Grant. I’ll drop to my knees every time you want. Just let me get my mouth on your huge dick. Let me show you how much I worship it.”

Grant’s cock twitched hard at the words, a dark spot of precum visibly darkening the fabric. He looked down at Errol with pure arrogant satisfaction, chest rising and falling slowly, every muscle still deliberately tensed so Errol could stare. The power sat thick in the air between them—Grant holding every card, Errol already broken open and pleading on the cold floor of the empty locker room, cock hard and ignored between his own legs while he described exactly how he wanted to be used.

“Not quite desperate enough yet,” Grant said softly, almost kindly, as he hooked both thumbs into his waistband and dragged the shorts down another inch, freeing just the thick base and the heavy hang of his balls. The rest stayed trapped, the swollen head still hidden, a deliberate cruelty. “Keep begging. Paint me a picture of what you’ll do once I finally shove this down your throat. Make me believe you deserve even a taste of what I’ve got.”

Errol’s voice broke on the next plea, words tumbling out hot and shameless while he stayed on his knees, staring up at the oiled, vein-mapped body that towered over him, every flex and adjustment designed to drive him further into that aching, open hunger. The tension stretched tight and unfinished between them, Grant still fully in control, the promise of that thick cock still just out of reach.

Grant’s thumbs stayed hooked in the waistband, the heavy base of his cock and the full hang of his balls now free while the rest of the thick shaft stayed trapped, the dark head still a cruel outline against the stretched fabric. Errol’s mouth watered so hard he had to swallow twice. The concrete bit into his knees. Every flex of Grant’s thighs made the trapped meat jump.

“I said keep begging,” Grant ordered, voice lazy with power. He rolled one shoulder, then the other, making the thick shelves of his traps rise and fall. “Paint the picture, Errol. What happens the second I let you put your mouth on it?”

Errol’s cock throbbed untouched inside his own shorts. “I’ll open wide and take the head first—slow, so I can feel how fat it is against my tongue. I’ll lick that precum right off the slit and moan around it so you feel the vibration. Then I’ll work down the shaft, inch by inch, until my throat is stretched around you and my nose is in your hair. I’ll drool all over your balls while I choke myself on it. Please, Grant—please let me. I’ve earned a taste. I’ll beg between every stroke if you want. I’ll tell you how perfect your cock is while I’m gagging on it.”

Grant’s smirk sharpened. He finally shoved the shorts the rest of the way down. The heavy cock sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking a clear bead that stretched and fell onto the concrete between Errol’s knees. It hung long and dense, the head flared and dark, the shaft pulsing with each slow heartbeat. Grant stepped out of the shorts, kicked them aside, and stood completely naked under the fluorescent lights, every carved line of his body on display. He wrapped one massive hand around the base and gave himself two slow strokes, squeezing until another thick drop of precum welled up.

“Open,” he said.

Errol surged forward. His lips parted. Grant tapped the heavy head against them once, twice, smearing the wetness across Errol’s mouth before pushing in. The stretch was immediate—fat and hot and salty. Errol moaned around it, eyes fluttering shut as the weight settled on his tongue. Grant’s free hand landed on the back of Errol’s head, not forcing yet, just resting there heavy and possessive while the younger man started to suck.

“That’s it. Look at you, already slobbering like a whore.” Grant flexed both biceps deliberately, the peaks swelling thick and vascular right above Errol’s face. “Suck harder. Use that tongue. I want to feel you worshipping it.”

Errol obeyed, cheeks hollowing, spit already running down his chin. He bobbed shallow at first, savoring the way the fat head dragged across the roof of his mouth, then took more. The thick shaft forced his jaw wide. When the head bumped the back of his throat he gagged wetly, eyes watering, but he pushed through it, swallowing convulsively until his nose brushed the dark trail of hair. Grant groaned low and pleased, hips giving a short thrust that buried the last inch.

“Fuck—look at that. All the way down. You’ve been practicing on toys thinking about this cock, haven’t you?” Grant kept his biceps flexed hard, veins standing out sharp, while he watched Errol’s throat bulge. “Pull off and beg for air. Then get back on it.”

Errol slid back, gasping, a thick string of spit connecting his swollen lips to the glistening shaft. “Please—let me have it again. I need it down my throat. Your cock tastes so fucking good. Use my mouth, Grant. Fuck my face. I’ll take every thick inch. Please—”

Grant shoved back in before the last word finished. He started fucking Errol’s mouth in earnest—long, controlled strokes that pulled almost free then plunged deep again. Errol’s hands came up to brace on Grant’s massive quads, fingers digging into the dense muscle while spit flew and his own neglected cock leaked steadily into his shorts. Between every few thrusts Grant made him pull off just long enough to rasp out another broken plea—“Please, more—choke me on it—I’ll be your locker-room cocksucker anytime you want”—before driving back in. Grant’s balls swung heavy against Errol’s chin. The bodybuilder kept flexing, one arm then the other, posing like he was still in front of the mirror while he used the eager mouth beneath him.

“Deeper. I want tears. I want you gagging so loud the whole fucking gym would hear if the door wasn’t shut.” Grant’s voice stayed arrogant, almost bored, even as his cock pulsed harder. “You’re nothing but a warm hole for this dick right now. Beg while you suck. Let me hear how pathetic you are for it.”

Errol tried—muffled, desperate sounds around the thick shaft, words half-formed between wet glucks and gasps for air. “Need it—please—your huge cock—use me—” Spit ran down his chest. His jaw ached deliciously. Every time Grant flexed those absurd biceps, Errol’s cock jerked harder.

Finally Grant pulled free with a wet pop. Errol’s lips were red and shiny, chin dripping. Grant’s cock stood rigid, veins standing out, the head dark and angry. He hauled Errol up by the arms, spun him, and shoved him face-down over the nearest metal bench. The cold steel pressed against Errol’s stomach. Grant yanked Errol’s shorts and briefs down in one rough motion, exposing the tight curve of his ass and the hard, leaking cock that slapped up against the edge of the bench.

“Stay bent. Spread your legs.” Grant spit into his palm, stroked himself once, then pressed the fat head against Errol’s hole. “Beg for it in your ass now. Tell me how bad you need this bodybuilder cock splitting you open.”

Errol’s voice cracked. “Please—fuck me. Shove that thick dick in me. I’ve wanted it for weeks. Stretch my hole. Pound me right here where anyone could walk in. I’ll beg the whole time—just give it to me. Please, Grant, fill me up.”

Grant pushed in. The head popped past the tight ring; Errol cried out at the burn and the stretch, cock jumping against the bench. Grant didn’t stop. He fed inch after thick inch until his hips met Errol’s ass and the heavy balls rested against him. He held there, grinding deep, both hands gripping Errol’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“Tight little hole. Taking every bit of it like you were made for this.” Grant pulled almost all the way out, then slammed home. The bench screeched against the concrete. He set a brutal pace—standing doggy, long rough strokes that drove the air out of Errol’s lungs with every thrust. “Keep begging. Louder. Tell me how good it feels getting fucked by a real man.”

Errol’s hands scrabbled at the metal. “So fucking good—your cock is huge—pounding my ass so deep. Please don’t stop. Use me harder. I love it—I love being your desperate little cock-sleeve. Flex for me while you fuck me. Let me feel how strong you are.”

Grant laughed, low and mean, and did exactly that—rolling his shoulders, popping both biceps while he hammered into Errol’s hole. Sweat ran down the deep groove of his abs and dripped onto Errol’s back. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the empty locker room. Grant reached around, wrapped a big hand around Errol’s cock, and stroked him in time with the thrusts.

“You’re gonna come first. I want to feel this hole clamp down while you shoot all over the bench. Then you keep begging until I fill you up. Understand?”

“Yes—fuck—please make me come on your cock. I’m so close. Harder—please, Grant, breed my ass, I need it—”

Grant’s pace turned punishing. Every thrust drove Errol forward on the bench. The thick shaft dragged over his prostate relentlessly. Errol’s orgasm ripped through him with a broken shout—hot ropes pulsing across the metal and Grant’s fist while his hole clenched and fluttered. Grant kept pounding him through it, never slowing, forcing more broken pleas out of him even as Errol shook.

“Still begging while you come. Perfect little slut.” Grant’s own breathing finally roughened. He drove in deep one last time, hips locked tight, and came hard—thick pulses flooding Errol’s ass, overflowing around the buried cock in heavy spurts. He kept flexing through it, biceps peaked, chest heaving, while Errol whimpered underneath him and pushed back for every drop.

Grant stayed buried for long seconds, grinding the last of his load deep, then slowly pulled free. Cum dripped down Errol’s thighs. Both men were breathing hard, skin slick, the locker room air thick with the smell of sex and sweat. Grant ran a possessive palm down Errol’s spine, then squeezed one ass cheek hard enough to leave a handprint.

“We’re not done,” he said, voice still full of arrogant satisfaction. “You’re going to clean my cock with that eager tongue, and then you’re going to tell me exactly how many more times you can take it before I decide you’ve had enough.”

Errol stayed bent over the cold metal bench, legs still spread, Grant’s thick cum already sliding warm down the insides of his thighs. His own cock hung spent and sensitive against the edge, but the bodybuilder’s order cut through the haze. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, turned, and dropped straight back to his knees on the concrete. Grant stood over him naked and gleaming, that massive cock still half-hard, shiny with spend and spit, the heavy balls drawn up tight.

Errol leaned in without being told a second time. He opened wide and dragged his tongue from the base all the way up the vein-ridged shaft, tasting himself and Grant mixed together—salt, musk, the sharp tang of fresh cum. He lapped carefully around the flared head, sucking the last thick drops from the slit while Grant watched with that same lazy, arrogant smirk.

“That’s it. Clean every inch like you mean it.” Grant’s voice rolled low. He flexed one arm casually, bicep swelling into a hard peak right above Errol’s face. “Now tell me. How many more times can that hungry hole of yours take this cock before you break?”

Errol pulled off just long enough to answer, lips already shiny again. “Three. Fuck—four if you want. I’ll take it as many times as you give it. Please, Grant. My ass is still open for you. Use me again.”

Grant chuckled, the sound pure satisfaction. He wrapped a big hand around his thickening cock and painted Errol’s lips with the wet head, smearing the mixture of their fluids across the younger man’s mouth. “Beg better than that. I just flooded your guts and you’re already begging for round two like a bitch in heat. Tell me how good it felt getting bred by a real bodybuilder. Tell me you need more.”

Errol’s cock twitched back to life between his legs, filling fast. Heat flooded his face. “It felt perfect. Your cock stretched me so wide I thought I’d split, and when you came I could feel every pulse filling me up. I need it again—please shove it back in. Pound me until I can’t walk. I’ll praise every thick inch while you do it. You’re so fucking hot, Grant. Look at these arms, this chest—I’ll never get enough.”

Grant’s smirk widened. He hauled Errol up by the hair, spun him again, and bent him over the bench once more. This time he didn’t bother with spit. He lined up that fat, glistening head and pushed straight into the loose, cum-slick hole. Errol groaned long and low as the stretch returned, deeper this time, easier, the thick shaft gliding home until Grant’s hips slapped flush against his ass.

“Still so fucking tight around me.” Grant started thrusting immediately—deep, rolling strokes that dragged over Errol’s prostate on every pass. His hands clamped on Errol’s waist, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave fresh marks. “Keep talking. Worship this body while I ruin you.”

Errol’s voice cracked with every thrust. “Yes—your cock is perfect, so heavy, so thick. These muscles—fuck—I can feel how strong you are every time you slam in. Flex for me again. Let me feel those arms while you use my hole. Please don’t stop. I’ll take another load, Grant. Breed me twice. I’m your locker-room slut, I swear—”

Grant laughed and did exactly that, rolling both shoulders so the thick traps rose and the biceps peaked hard. Sweat dripped from the deep cut of his abs onto Errol’s back. He fucked harder, the wet slap of skin filling the empty room, the bench screeching forward an inch with each powerful drive. Errol’s cock was fully hard again, bouncing and leaking against the metal, untouched and aching.

After long minutes of that brutal pace Grant pulled out suddenly. Errol whimpered at the empty feeling. Grant sat down on the bench himself, legs spread wide, that massive cock jutting up wet and angry. He patted one thick thigh.

“Climb on. Face me. I want to watch you bounce on it while you beg.”

Errol scrambled up, straddling the bodybuilder’s lap. He reached back, guided the thick head to his stretched hole, and sank down in one long slide. The burn bloomed fresh and perfect. Grant’s hands locked on his hips and helped slam him the rest of the way home. Errol’s head fell back; a broken moan tore out of him as he started riding—short, desperate bounces at first, then longer strokes that let the fat shaft drag almost free before he dropped again.

Grant’s eyes stayed locked on Errol’s face, arrogant and amused. He flexed his chest, pecs jumping under the fluorescent light. “Faster. And keep the praise coming. Tell me how much better this cock is than anything you’ve ever had. Tell me you’ll crawl for it next time too.”

“It’s the best—biggest I’ve ever taken.” Errol’s words came out between gasps as he fucked himself harder on the thick length. “Nothing compares. I think about these muscles every night when I jerk off. I’ll crawl across the whole fucking gym if you want. Just keep letting me have it. Please, Grant—your dick feels so good splitting me open. I’m gonna come again just from riding it—”

Grant’s hand cracked across Errol’s ass. “Not yet. You don’t come until I say. Slow down.”

Errol forced himself to ease the pace, thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. Grant reached between them and wrapped one big fist around Errol’s leaking cock, stroking slow and deliberate, thumb smearing the precum over the head. The dual sensation—thick cock grinding deep inside and that rough hand on his shaft—had Errol shaking within seconds.

“Look at you. Shaking already.” Grant’s voice stayed calm, almost bored. “One more round of groveling. Make it good. Tell me exactly how desperate you are for permission. Beg like your life depends on it.”

Errol’s eyes were wet, voice raw. He kept rolling his hips in tiny circles, hole fluttering around the buried cock. “Please, Grant. Please let me come. I’ve been good—I cleaned your cock, I took every inch twice, I praised every muscle like you wanted. You’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen. This body, this thick cock—I’ll do anything. I’ll drop to my knees the second you walk in next time. I’ll beg louder, longer, whatever you need. Just let me shoot. My balls hurt. Please—I’m right there. Please give me permission. I’ll worship you forever for it.”

Grant held the moment, stroking Errol’s cock with cruel patience while he watched the younger man fall apart on his lap. Then he nodded once, slow and satisfied.

“Come. Now. All over my abs. Make a mess while you thank me.”

Errol shattered. His hole clamped down hard around Grant’s cock as the orgasm ripped through him—thick ropes of cum striping across the ridged abs and up onto the massive pecs. He kept babbling broken thanks the whole time—“thank you, fuck, thank you, your cock is perfect”—while his body jerked and spilled. Grant groaned low at the fluttering pressure and thrust up hard three more times, burying himself deep as he emptied a second heavy load into Errol’s already-flooded ass. Pulsing waves of heat filled him again, overflowing around the thick shaft and dripping down onto Grant’s balls.

They stayed locked like that for long seconds, both breathing hard, skin slick and shining under the lights. Grant finally lifted Errol off his cock with easy strength. Cum poured out of the loose hole in a thick stream. Errol slumped to his knees again on instinct, wrecked and trembling, chin wet, eyes glassy.

Grant stood. His spent cock hung heavy and glistening, still half-hard, dripping the last of their mixed fluids. He stepped close, gripped the base, and casually wiped the wet shaft across Errol’s open tongue—once, twice, smearing the last streaks of cum and spit over it like he was cleaning a tool. Errol moaned softly and licked it clean without being told.

Grant looked down at the mess of a man on the floor—flushed, shaking, covered in sweat and cum, hole still leaking—and smirked, pure arrogant satisfaction.

“Next time,” he said, voice casual as he reached for his shorts, “I’m making you beg even harder. Longer. Maybe I’ll edge you for an hour first. We’ll see how pretty you sound when you’re really desperate.”

He stepped into the shorts, pulled them up over that thick cock, grabbed his tank top from the bench, and walked toward the exit without looking back. The door swung shut behind him with a soft metallic click.

The fluorescent lights hummed. Errol stayed on his knees in the empty locker room, the concrete cool under him, the air thick with the smell of sex and coconut oil and spent bodies. Silence settled heavy and complete.