My Bully Invited Me to His Hotel Room
Copyright© 2025 by StoriesByTroy
Chapter 9
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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
“Oh,” Luca said, tilting his head, his voice smooth like a poured drink. “So this is the guy you were telling me about?”
Wes stood in the doorway, lips parted, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His eyes flicked from Luca’s body to mine and back again. Caught somewhere between stunned and turned on.
I stepped closer to Wes, keeping my tone light. “Wes, this is Luca. We’ve been hooking up whenever I’m in the city.” I glanced back at Luca. “He’s ... talented.”
Luca smirked from where he lounged on the bed, one foot planted on the floor, his body draped in a way that made him look carved and casual at the same time. “More than just hooking up,” he said with a wink. “He calls me when he’s desperate.”
I gave him a playful glare. “Asshole.”
Then I turned back to Wes. His jaw was clenched. His arms stiff at his sides. I could see the storm in his eyes already—desire, jealousy, hunger.
Perfect.
“If you want to earn me,” I said slowly, stepping between the two of them, “you’re going to have to prove it.”
He blinked, still frozen in the doorway. “What does that mean?”
I pointed to the sleek velvet chair next to the bed—low, wide, deep black. It looked expensive and sinful.
“Sit,” I said. “That’s your spot tonight.”
Wes looked at the chair, then back at me, brow furrowed.
“You get to watch Luca fuck me,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper as I moved closer. “You’re allowed to get hard. But you’re not allowed to touch yourself. Not once.”
His jaw twitched. “Are you serious?”
I leaned in, barely brushing his chest with mine. “Dead serious.”
Luca gave a low chuckle behind me. “Damn,” he said. “Didn’t think he’d go through with it.”
Wes didn’t respond. But after a long pause, he stepped in and slowly lowered himself into the chair, legs spread wide, posture stiff. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. So he clenched the armrests.
Luca stood and peeled off his olive-green shirt like it was nothing. His chest came into view—broad and thick, with defined pecs, a light trail of hair, abs tight and cut like a boxer’s. His arms were massive, veined, flexing without trying. The kind of body that looked like it was built for ruining people.
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