Bending Eli
Copyright© 2025 by Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Chapter 5: Breathless
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5: Breathless - 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
The walk to class helped. A little. The air outside was sharp with early fall, cool enough to cut through the sweat still clinging to the back of my neck. My thighs ached from drills, my shoulders burned from Casper’s corrections, and still, somehow, my dick hadn’t gone down for half the walk.
I blamed the tight underwear. The way they held everything firm, like they were working against me. But that wasn’t it. I knew what it was.
It was the way Casper had pressed in close, his voice low, his fingers warm at the base of my spine, just above the waistband of my shorts. It was the way his sweat had clung to his body, the smell of him so thick and real I could practically taste it when he leaned in. The worst part was how calm he’d been — like it was nothing. Like I was just equipment. Something to position. Adjust.
I shifted in my seat as the lecture dragged on, arms crossed tight, trying not to squirm. My pants didn’t help. They rubbed in all the wrong ways. Everything felt too tight, too present, ugh, too horny. The TA was talking about cell metabolism, something about energy transfer and heat regulation, and all I could think about was the heat in my pants — the way it rose every time Casper touched me.
The classroom was full, but I barely noticed anyone else. My notebook stayed mostly blank. I kept catching myself staring into the middle distance, imagining things I shouldn’t. Casper in his sleeveless tee. Casper shirtless, stretching. Casper’s hand on my lower back. Casper’s voice in my ear.
By the time class ended, I was a mess of nerves and frustration, barely able to stand without adjusting myself first. I headed back to the dorm, heart pounding like I’d just run a sprint.
Please don’t be there, I thought as I climbed the stairs.
But Mason was there.
Of course he was.
He was stretched across his bed, headphones in, one leg up, scrolling something on his phone with a lazy thumb. Shirtless again. His shorts rode low on his hips, waistband dipped just enough to show the start of that deep V-line. His skin still held the glow of a post-practice rinse, damp curls at his neck where he hadn’t dried off properly.
He looked up as I came in, tugging one side of his headphones off.
“Yo. You good?” he asked, voice easy. “You left in a rush after practice.”
I blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Just ... class.”
Mason nodded like that explained everything, then kicked his heel against the edge of the bed. “You do anything fun?”
“Just my brain short-circuiting.” I dropped my bag by the desk, trying to keep my eyes from drifting. “Lecture was brutal.”
“Sounds about right,” he grinned. “You hungry? I was gonna hit the dining hall in a bit.”
“I might go later,” I mumbled, not sure I could handle company just yet.
He shrugged and slipped his headphones back on. “Suit yourself.”
I turned toward my side of the room, muscles still tight, skin buzzing. All I wanted was ten minutes. Just a moment alone. I could lock the door, put on music, get it out of my system. Just enough to take the edge off. Then maybe I’d feel normal again.
But with Mason there — shirtless, stretched out, body casual and loose — that wasn’t happening.
I sat on my bed, staring at the wall, willing my body to calm down. But Mason shifted on the other side of the room, and I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way his abs flexed as he adjusted, the lazy curve of his arm as he reached for a water bottle.
Nope. No chance.
I flopped back onto the bed, arm over my face, and let out a long, quiet breath.
Tomorrow. I’d deal with it tomorrow.
If I could make it that long.
And off to dinner I trudged.
The gym was already warm when I stepped inside the next morning. Chalk hung thick in the air, and the mats had that faint give underfoot that told you they hadn’t been re-rolled yet. Mason was across the room laughing with another guy, doing some casual ring holds like it was a rest day. I didn’t join them.
Casper was by the vault. Sleeveless again. Blond hair damp at the temples. His arms looked more pumped than usual, like he’d already run through a full set of drills before any of us even got here. He didn’t look up when I dropped my bag, but he had that awareness about him, like he always knew where everyone was. Like he could sense me.
I went through some quick stretches, trying to keep my focus locked in. I hadn’t jacked off the night before. Stilllll hadn’t. I thought maybe sleep would take the edge off, or that a class and a cold morning walk would reset me. Nope. My body was still tight, stomach tense, cock twitchy in my shorts from a single glance at Casper’s back.
“Eli.” His voice came sudden, direct. He was standing closer than I’d realized. “We’re working ring supports today. You ready?”
I nodded and followed him to the setup. He moved like he always did—clean, deliberate. Casual, elegant, dreamy.
There I went again.
He adjusted the straps as I stepped into place.
“Up,” he said.
I pushed up into a shaky hold. My arms were already straining a little.
“Too much tension in your core,” he said behind me. “You’re locking up again. Breathe.”
I let out a breath, trying to soften. It helped. A little.
Then I felt his hand at my lower back. Firm, flat, confident. His body edged closer behind mine, enough that I could feel the warmth of him without turning my head. His palm shifted, fingers pressing at my hips, adjusting the angle. Then lower, just above my waistband.
“Here. Loosen this,” he said, voice close to my ear.
I tried. But then I felt it. The problem. My shorts were already tented, the pressure of him behind me, the weight of his hand, the closeness, it was too much.
I clenched my teeth, trying to will it away. But it was obvious.
Casper didn’t move.
His hand stilled.
Then—
“You’re gonna have trouble keeping tension in your core if you’re, uh ... dealing with that much pressure elsewhere.”
My stomach dropped. My face flushed crimson. I lowered fast, dropping to the mat with too much force. My arms shook.
Casper stepped back, but only a little. “It’s normal,” he said, tone easy. “Happens to guys sometimes. Blood flow. Nerves. Gym shorts. Maybe you a little more than most.”
He met my eyes then. His weren’t mocking. Just sharp. Knowing. His smirk was faint, like he was letting me off the hook—barely.
I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. My throat had gone dry.
Casper gave a small shrug and turned back to the rings. “We’ll stretch it out. Come on.”
My legs didn’t want to move. Not because I was tired, but because I could still feel his hand where it had been. That exact heat. That precise weight.
And worse, the arousal wasn’t going away.
I made it through the rest of practice by sheer force of will. I kept my eyes forward, my face neutral, my thoughts buried. Even when Casper touched me again—lighter this time, more professional—I stayed quiet. He didn’t bring it up again. But I could feel it between us. A shift. A new weight in the air.
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