Gym Bro’s Monster Cock Owns My Willing Ass

I had been grinding through sets on the incline bench when Marcus walked in for the first time. Twenty-five, built like he lived in the gym, he wore nothing but gray sweats that clung to an unmistakable bulge. The second his eyes caught mine I felt my pulse shift. He grinned, nodded toward the free barbell, and said, “You gonna help me rack this or just stare?”

We started talking between sets. Marcus was blunt. “These pants don’t leave much to the imagination, huh?” “Not much,” I admitted, wiping sweat off my forehead. “Looks like you’re packing serious weight.”

He chuckled low. “Eight inches soft, thicker than most guys hard. You ever taken something that size?” My mouth went dry. “Been craving exactly that for weeks. Something thick that’ll make me feel it the next day.”

Marcus’s gaze dropped to my ass, then flicked back up. “Keep talking like that and we’ll end up testing the theory tonight.”

The gym closed at eleven. By the time the last member left, the fluorescent lights hummed over empty benches and the smell of disinfectant hung in the air. Marcus and I lingered, peeling off our shirts in the locker room. He stepped into the open shower area first, water sluicing over slabs of muscle. I followed, hard already, watching the heavy swing between his thighs grow heavier.

Marcus turned, soap sliding down his abs. “You still want that stretch you were bragging about?” “Yes,” I said, voice rough.

He reached down, freed his cock. It was heavy, veined, already fattening past nine inches. He let it slap against his palm. “On your knees then.”

I dropped without hesitation. The tile was cold under my shins. Marcus fed me the thick head, stretching my lips until my jaw ached. Spit ran down his shaft as I took him deeper, throat working around that blunt crown. He groaned, one hand resting on the back of my head, guiding me without forcing. I gagged, pulled back, strings of saliva connecting my mouth to his cock, then dove again.

“Fuck, Jake,” he breathed. “You’re hungry for it.”

He pulled me off his cock with a wet pop, spit shining on his shaft, and hauled me up by the armpits. My twenty-four-year-old trainer’s body was already trembling; Marcus spun me toward the tiled wall, pressed my chest flat against the cool surface, and kicked my feet wider.

“Ass out,” he ordered. I shoved back obediently. Thick fingers slick with leftover soap and spit shoved between my cheeks, circling my hole once, twice, then sinking in knuckle-deep. I groaned at the stretch. He worked a second finger in fast, scissoring me open while the shower spray beat across our shoulders.

“Still craving it?” he growled against my ear.

“Yes—fuck, Marcus, put it in.”

He pulled his fingers free, lined that fat head up, and pushed. The blunt pressure burned perfect. My rim flared around him, inch after thick inch sliding home until his hips met my ass and his heavy balls rested warm against mine. I felt split open, full past the point of comfortable, exactly the stretch I’d begged for.

Marcus gave me two shallow thrusts to let me adjust, then started pounding. Wet skin slapped wet skin. Every stroke dragged over my prostate and punched the air out of me in broken moans. He wrapped one arm around my chest, hauled me tighter against him, and drove deeper, that monster cock rearranging my guts with every snap of his hips.

“Take it,” he grunted. “Gonna ruin this eager hole.”

I pushed back to meet him, greedy, holes clenching around the invasion. He reached around, fisted my cock, and stroked in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation short-circuited everything; pleasure piled up fast and dirty. Marcus’s breath turned ragged. He slammed in to the root and stayed buried, grinding circles that made stars burst behind my eyes.

“Gonna fill you,” he warned.

“Do it—breed my ass.”

He roared and unloaded. Thick ropes of cum flooded me, pulse after pulse, so much it leaked around his still-thrusting cock and ran down my thighs in hot streaks. The feel of him claiming me shoved me over. I came hard against the tile, shooting untouched ropes that painted the wall while my ass milked every drop out of him.

Marcus kept rocking through the aftershocks, slow and deep, until his cock softened enough to slip free with a filthy wet sound. Cum dripped out of my wrecked hole and hit the shower floor. He turned me around, kissed me once—rough, satisfied—and rested his forehead against mine under the cooling spray.

“Next time,” he said, voice low, “I’m bending you over the bench before closing. You good?”

I laughed, boneless and sore in the best way. “Already counting the hours.”

We soaped off the evidence, toweled dry, and left the empty gym with matching grins, my ass still throbbing around the memory of that monster cock.