Chapter 7: Private Lesson

It had been three days since the last practice. Three days since Casper pressed his impressive package against my butt, got me hard as rock, then walked off all casual. Three days of trying not to read into it. I told myself I was overthinking, that he was just doing his job, that it hadn’t meant anything. But the truth was, I’d replayed that moment, like, a hundred times. I could still feel the ghost of his chest against my back when I lay in bed at night. Still woke up hard, still couldn’t make it go away.

I didn’t even bother trying to jerk off anymore. Not with Mason always around. Not with my brain as scrambled as it had been lately. If anything, the pressure was building.

On the way to the athletic centre, the air outside was cool and refreshing. One of those early-fall days where the breeze could sneak through your sleeves and remind you your winter was on its way. I kept my head down as I walked, earbuds in, trying to drown out everything with music. It didn’t work. All I could think about was whether Casper would touch me again. Whether I’d be able to handle it if he did. Or if I’d crack, right there on the mat.

The gym was mostly empty when I arrived. A couple guys on the rowing machines. One girl loading plates onto a squat rack. No sign of Mason. No sign of Casper either.

I liked it better this way. No audience. Fewer eyes.

I warmed up alone, moving through the drills we’d practiced last week. My shoulders felt stiff. My lower back was tight. Every stretch brought a dull ache, and beneath that, a low, familiar throb that hadn’t gone away in days.

I stretched slowly, letting my muscles warm, trying to get my head in the right place. I knew I was falling behind. Everyone else had been landing clean. My core alignment was off. My release points were weak. And now that I’d caught Casper’s attention, I couldn’t afford to keep screwing up.

I was halfway through a strength circuit when I heard the door to the back office open.

Casper stepped out, wearing black track pants and a thin grey tee that clung to his chest. He looked like he’d just changed; maybe he’d just come from a shower or something.

“You’re early,” he said.

I wiped my face with my forearm. “Figured I’d get some extra reps in.”

“Good.” He grabbed a set of rings from the wall and walked toward me. “Let’s run through the hollow-body holds again. I want to see how long you can maintain shape before we move to dismounts.”

I nodded, trying not to stare at the way the hem of his shirt rose slightly when he reached overhead. I adjusted my position on the mat, focusing on my breathing. Stay focused. Stay tight. Don’t think.

He clipped the rings in place and stepped back. “Alright. Let’s see it.”

I jumped up, took hold, and lifted into the first hold. Casper’s hands were at my waist, adjusting me. My arms shook almost immediately.

“Tighter through the core,” he said. “You’re leaking energy.”

I clenched harder, gritted my teeth, tried to fuse everything together like we’d been taught.

“Still sagging through the hips,” Casper insisted as he traced his hand along my thighs, lighting me up like a firecracker. “Another rep.”

I dropped, wiped my palms, and jumped back up. His hands were on me again.

This time it was worse.

I felt the blood rush to my face. My shoulders burned. My legs weren’t locking properly. I knew I was screwing it up, but the real problem was lower. Pressed thick and full against the front of my shorts, throbbing with every exertion.

I’d felt it building during the warm-up. I’d tried to ignore it. But now, hanging from the rings with my arms trembling and sweat running down my back, it was impossible to pretend I wasn’t hard.

I adjusted slightly on the landing, trying to shift things without making it obvious.

“Again,” he said, still gripping me firmly, repositioning me like a rigid sculpture.

I nodded and jumped up a third time. Less height this time. Less control. My cock pressed even harder against the inside of my shorts, stiff and insistent. I was starting to sweat for real now—not from effort, but from panic. I couldn’t tell if Casper had noticed. Part of me was sure he had. Another part was praying he hadn’t.

“Drop,” he said finally.

I let go and landed hard on my feet.

Casper walked over, calm as ever. “You’re not hitting your shapes.”

“I know. I’m trying—”

“I can tell. But your core’s not firing. Your form’s collapsing.”

He crouched beside me. I could feel his eyes tracing me, cool and measured.

“You’ve got too much tension,” he said. “Something’s pulling your focus.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything, his eyes flicked down.

Then back up.

It was the smallest gesture. Not even a full glance. But it hit like a spotlight.

My whole body locked. I could feel myself blushing, chest tight, breath caught in my throat.

Casper didn’t comment right away. Just rested one elbow on his knee and looked at me like he had solved a riddle.