Bending Eli
Copyright© 2025 by Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Chapter 11: Hat Trick
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 11: Hat Trick - I'm Eli, an 18 year old university freshman. I join the school's gymnastics team in search of something new but find myself caught in a world of lust, dominance and kink that I never expected when I become entangled with my sexy Assistant Coach, Casper, all while hiding things from my equally sexy, straight, roommate, Mason.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma Consensual Gay School Sports DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Anal Sex Analingus Exhibitionism First Masturbation Oral Sex
I pushed through the dorm hallway at dusk on Monday and felt like I’d swallowed a small sun. Everything in me glowed. My skin, my pulse, even the soles of my feet fizzed each time they hit the linoleum. I’d spent half the walk back replaying Casper’s low, satisfied grunt when I finally took him to the root, and the other half fighting a goofy smile that wanted to split my face open.
I must not have fought hard enough, because the second I tapped my keycard and nudged our door open, Mason glanced up from his bed and barked a laugh.
“Well damn, gym rat—someone’s smug.” He tossed his phone aside, propped himself on an elbow, and gave me a once-over that left no doubt he’d clocked every inch of my giddy aura. “What did you bench—world peace?”
“Shut up.” I slid my bag to the floor, hoping the grin would fade if I looked busy. It didn’t. My cheeks ached.
Mason sat up fully, messy blond hair haloed by the lamplight. “Seriously, you’re floating, dude. Good lift? Or”—he cocked an eyebrow—”good something else?”
Blood sprinted to my ears. “It was ... fine.”
He smirked. “Fine doesn’t do that to a man’s face. That’s post-nut glow if I’ve ever seen it.” He folded his arms behind his head, pecs flexing just because they could. “Question is, did it happen at the gym or on the way back?”
My throat went dry. I realized I was touching my lips, like there might still be evidence, and yanked my hand away.
Mason’s grin spread. “Oh my God, it was at the gym, wasn’t it?” He sat forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Locker-room quickie with that girl who’s always checking you out? The red head who always has headphones in so no one will talk to her?”
“Dude.” I kicked off my shoes and turned toward my dresser, trying to hide the flush. “Drop it.”
“Not a denial.” He whistled low. “Respect. I’d shake your hand, but I don’t know where it’s been.”
I groaned into my open drawer and grabbed a clean T-shirt. No way did he know. He was just guessing—right? Still, my brain raced: was my hair mussed weird? Did I smell like Casper? Could he tell my throat felt raw from being stretched open—
“Whatever happened,” Mason went on, drawing out the words, “it has you strutting in here like you just aced exams and got a blowjob at the same time.” He laughed at his own line, then paused. “Wait. Was it both?”
I whipped the shirt over my head and faced him. “Can you not?”
He held up his hands, palms out. “Look, I’m only curious because you never talk about hookups, and I’d totally spill deets if you asked me. Bros share, y’know?”
“Congratulations on being an open book.” I tried sounding bored and failed; my voice cracked on the last word.
Mason’s gaze sharpened. “Seriously, Eli, I’d keep it between us. It’s just—nice seeing you happy. You’ve been tense since season started. If someone finally—” He made a vague gesture toward his lap. “—helped you relax, that’s dope.”
I managed a weak laugh. “I’m relaxed, okay? Can we watch the game?”
Mason smirked but let it drop. “Sure, man. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m like, a pro-detective.”
Tuesday crawled.
Morning lecture? Useless. Organic chem notes turned to hieroglyphs the second I tried to read them. My mind replayed Monday in high-definition: kneeling on the rubberized floor of the empty stretching room, Casper’s fingers tangled in my hair, the smell of his sweat...
I shifted in my seat. My cock thickened against denim, and the professor’s voice blurred into static. Outside, leaves rattled against the window like they wanted to get in and hear my dirty thoughts.
Afternoon was worse. Mason trailed me around campus like a friendly hound, peppering me with jokes.
“So...”—he waggled his eyebrows as we left the dining hall—”was it in a sauna? Please tell me you steamed up the mirrors.”
“No.”
“Storage closet?”
“Mason!”
He clicked his tongue. “Damn. Was it at least on a mat? Hygiene matters, bro.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “If I say nothing happened, will you chill?”
He studied my face, unblinking, until I squirmed. “You could, but your smile says otherwise.”
I cursed my traitor mouth. Every time the memory surfaced, my lips curved on their own.
“Fine,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Keep your secrets. But if you end up writing poetry in your notebook, I’m staging an intervention.”
The teasing should’ve grated. Instead, it spiraled me deeper: what if he could tell? What if a stray drop of Casper’s cum had dried on my cheek and I’d walked through campus with it? My body flashed hot. I ducked from under Mason’s arm and muttered something about study group.
He laughed behind me. “Run, virgin, run!”
Tuesday night I lay awake, staring at the ceiling skylight of our cramped dorm. Mason’s gentle snores filtered through the dark, each one a reminder I was two feet from a guy who’d hounded me all day for sex details.
Would he still joke if he knew the truth: how I’d knelt on speckled flooring under harsh fluorescent lights, the air reeking of disinfectant and sweat? How I’d gagged, eyes watering, and felt more alive than ever? How Casper had finished with a low groan, thumb brushing my jaw as if marking me?
A shiver rippled through me. My cock throbbed under the sheet. I pressed a palm over it, not stroking, just feeling the weight, proof that it happened.
Casper had said: Come back Wednesday, 5:30 a.m. sharp. We’ll pick up where we left off.
One day gap. Twenty-four hours of nerves, replay, and ache.
I squeezed harder, breath shallow, but didn’t allow release. Saving it felt like honoring the promise, like arriving hungry would please him.
I blinked at the clock on my phone: 5:22 a.m. The gym was half-dark, only the safety lights over the rings giving off a faint blue glow.
Casper was already on the spring floor, stretching in that black singlet that clung to every cut line of his torso. Chalk dust floated around his calves. When he heard my footsteps, he rose and tugged the straps tighter across his shoulders.
“Morning,” I said, breath catching slightly as I dropped my bag.
“Morning.” He stood and rolled out his shoulders. “We’ll be working through inverted ring holds today, with spotters if we can grab someone by seven. But before we get to that, we need to deal with the tension you’re always carrying.”
I paused. “Tension?”
Casper crossed the floor toward me, easy and deliberate. “You carry it in your body, your jaw, your hips. You fight every movement until I break it out of you. Last time, your performance only improved after we had our little session. Remember?”
I swallowed. “Yes, Coach.”
“Good. Then you know how we’re going to start.” He nodded at me. “Strip.”
The gym was silent except for the distant hiss of the ventilation system. I hesitated only a moment, then pulled off my hoodie, peeled down my sweats, and stepped out of them. My singlet was tented embarrassingly already. I slid it down, heat rushing to my cheeks.
Casper watched calmly, like he was evaluating my posture. “Hands behind your back.”
I clasped them. My cock stood stiff in the cold air. Casper circled me once, slow and clinical, before stepping in front and reaching for his own waistband. He tugged the singlet down to mid-thigh and let his cock fall free. Thick, flushed, already half-hard.
“This is for your athletic performance,” he said, voice level. “You want to be loose on the rings.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Then on your knees.”
I dropped to the mat. The rubber texture scraped my knees. His cock hung inches from my face, and the scent hit me: clean sweat, something darker underneath. He palmed the back of my head gently.
“Start with my balls,” he said. “I want them wet.”
I leaned forward, tongue trembling, and licked slow along the underside of one orb, then the other. Casper let out a quiet exhale. I circled my tongue again, then sucked one lightly into my mouth, cheeks hollowing.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Get every inch.”
I dragged my tongue further back, following the curve behind his sac. The taste deepened, manly and primal. My cock throbbed, untouched. I kept my hands locked behind my back. I could already feel myself shaking.
I dragged my tongue further back, chasing the heat where his sac met the base of his body. The smell changed there, stronger and more private. My nose pressed gently into him as I pushed my tongue lower, and I felt his thighs flex on either side of my face.
Casper’s fingers tightened slightly in my hair. Not to guide me. Just to remind me whose hands I was in.
“Don’t rush,” he said quietly. “Make it count.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I took a slow breath, then tilted my chin and let the tip of my tongue find the crease just beneath his balls. He tasted like sweat and skin and sex. I dragged upward, just enough pressure to feel the slight resistance of stubble, then down again, tracing the same path. His cock gave a twitch against my cheek.