My Bully Invited Me to His Hotel Room
Copyright© 2025 by StoriesByTroy
Chapter 7
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 7 - Wes Carter bullied me in college, but I still can’t stop thinking about his body. Now we’re alone, and I can’t tell if he wants to fight me… or fuck me.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Ma Consensual Mind Control Romantic Gay Fiction Cuckold Sharing DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Spanking Torture Group Sex Anal Sex Exhibitionism First Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex Spitting Voyeurism Nudism Revenge
Woke up with sore knees and a smug little grin.
Got in the shower, hot water running down my neck, and checked my phone out of habit. Five texts from Wes.
You ready for the reunion event? I can’t stop thinking about your mouth. You’re a fucking problem. I need to see you. I’m hard as fuck. Come over.
I laughed.
This the same guy who used to laught at me freshman psych?
Now he’s texting me before 9 a.m. like a desperate little slut.
Wes had texted again.
WES:
You left me hard as fuck last night. That was evil.
I smirked. Typed back with one hand while I wiped the mirror with the other.
ME:
You earned it.
WES:
No, I didn’t earn anything. That’s what you said. So tell me what I have to do.
I stared at the message. Then leaned back against the counter, biting my lip and sent him a message.
ME:
You wanna fuck me? Prove you’re worth it. I’m not some easy hotel fuck. You used to bully me, remember?
Three dots.
WES:
I do remember. And I’m trying to make it up to you. Please, Noah. Just thinking about you in that towel’s making me crazy.
I paused. Raised an eyebrow.
And then—another message came through. A photo.
Wes. In the hotel hallway mirror. Tight black shirt, sleeves hugging his arms, buttons straining over his chest. Fitted pants. Fresh trim. Slight smirk.
WES:
I know you like black. So I wore this tight fucking shirt for you. Can’t wait to see your face when I walk into that reunion.
My cock twitched.
Another photo came through.
This time, every button on the shirt was undone. The black fabric hung open, sleeves still on, but the rest— Just abs, pecs, that thick chest he used to smirk over in locker room mirrors.
His torso looked carved. The kind of body you want to bite. And he knew it. He was showing off. For me.
ME:
You’re lucky I’m not walking in wearing just a towel.
WES:
Show me.
ME:
What?
WES:
Show. Me. Please.
I stood in the mirror, towel slung low, abs wet and glistening, water trailing down my chest. I flexed a little. Let the towel hang lower. Took the pic.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.