Bending Eli
Copyright© 2025 by Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Chapter 9: Working the Glutes
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9: Working the Glutes - 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
When I got back to the dorm, the hallway lights were still dim, like the building hadn’t caught up to the morning yet. My shirt stuck to my back with cold sweat, and my legs ached in that hollow way that didn’t feel like progress, just exhaustion. I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t even wiped my face. My jaw was tight. My lips felt raw.
Mason was already up, just stepping out of his room with his phone in one hand and a granola bar in the other. His shirt was halfway pulled over his head, hair flattened on one side from sleep.
He blinked at me. “Back already?”
I nodded. “Coach Casper had me doing circuits. Core work.”
“Brutal,” he said through a yawn. “He’s really working you lately, huh?”
“Guess I need it.”
Mason moved closer, squinting at my face. “You’ve got something right here,” he said, pointing just above my upper lip.
Before I could stop him, he reached out and plucked it.
I flinched. “What the hell?”
“Chill.” He held it between two fingers, inspecting it. “Wait a sec...”
He squinted harder. “Is this ... a hair?”
I said nothing.
“It’s uhh,” he said, turning it toward the light. “Curly. Dude, this is a pube.”
My chest locked up.
Mason gave me a slow, smug grin. “Bro. What were you doing on those mats?”
“It’s probably just from rolling around,” I muttered. “Shit gets everywhere.”
“Yeah? It rolled up and planted itself on your lip?” He laughed, holding it out like it was evidence. “You face-plant into someone’s lap mid-drill?”
I didn’t answer.
Mason kept chuckling as he walked to the trash and flicked it in. “Whatever, man. Your life. Just wash your damn face next time you get ... up close with someone.”
He opened the door and tossed a “Later” over his shoulder before heading out to breakfast.
I stood in the silence after, heart hammering in my chest. I hadn’t even realized it was there.
He must have known.
I replayed his face, the grin, the way he’d said it. You face-plant into someone’s lap? He’d seen it. He knew exactly what it was.
It was Casper’s.
I’d had his pube on my face.
My skin went hot with shame, my ears roaring. What if Mason had actually connected the dots? What if he was laughing about it right now, texting someone, already sharing the story?
Nah, I told myself. He doesn’t know I was alone with Casper. He just thinks we were doing team drills or something. He probably thought it really was from the mat, just gym grossness.
Mason teased about everything. That didn’t mean he knew.
I swallowed hard and grabbed the towel off my desk, wiping my face even though I knew it was too late. The damage was done. Not just to my pride, but to my sense of reality. Because now I couldn’t stop imagining what I must’ve looked like—walking into the dorm with dried sweat on my skin, cum still crusted under my waistband, and Casper’s hair stuck to my lip like a brand.
And I hadn’t even noticed.
I wasn’t in control anymore. Not of my body. Not of my thoughts. Not of anything.
I dropped the towel, sat down hard on my bed, and stared at the floor. I was exhausted. Wired. And already dreading the next text from Casper.
But I also knew I’d go. Whatever he said, whatever time—I’d be there.
That single hair might’ve said more than either of us ever had.
I forced myself up and into the tiny dorm bathroom. The overhead light was too bright, too harsh. I splashed cold water on my face, again and again, like I could scrub away the memory, the sweat, the smell.
My whole face burned.
I brushed my teeth with quick, clumsy strokes, rinsed my mouth twice, and ran a damp hand through my hair. No time for a shower. If I waited too long, Mason might already be gone, and I needed to see him. Read him. Test whether he actually knew or was just messing around the way he always did.
I pulled on a clean shirt, shoved my wallet in my pocket, and headed out fast, skipping socks and double-checking I didn’t still smell like sex. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t trust myself anymore to know the difference between sweat and guilt.
The air outside was sharp and clean, almost cruel. I spotted Mason up ahead, already walking toward the dining hall. I jogged to catch up, pulse kicking in my ears.
“Wait up,” I called.
He turned, saw me, and grinned. “Didn’t think you were gonna make it.”
I forced a smile. “I needed food.”
“Good. You look like you burned five thousand calories in there.”
He bumped my shoulder lightly as we walked.
I laughed—too loud, too fake. “Yeah, Casper’s intense.”
“Clearly,” he said, then added nothing else.
My stomach tightened.
No jokes. No follow-up. No more teasing about face-planting or teabagging. Just silence.
Which, somehow, felt worse.
Had he dropped it because it was just a joke?
Or because he actually knew and didn’t want to push?
I nodded along to something he said about the eggs in the dining hall being powdered again. I wasn’t listening. All I could think was: Does he know it was Casper’s? Does he know what I did?
I sat across from him with a plate I didn’t touch and a brain I couldn’t shut off, watching every blink, every grin, every word, trying to decode the truth behind his silence.
We walked our trays back together. Mason tossed his napkin away and nudged my elbow as we stepped into the hall.
“Hey,” he said, voice light but eyes a touch too sharp. “Think about showering before class today, alright?”
I blinked. “Do I stink?”
He shrugged. “Not like sweat. More like ... you know—gym mats and mystery fibers.” A teasing grin slid across his face, and he touched me briefly on the top of my lip causing the heat to rise again. “Wouldn’t want the TA pulling another hair off you in chem lab.”
Then he clapped my shoulder and sauntered off toward the science building, earbuds already in. No follow-up, no laughter drifting back. Just that one needling reminder.
I still couldn’t tell if he actually knew.
The day passed in a haze, like I’d sleepwalked through it. I made it to class, but I couldn’t tell you what anyone said. My notebook stayed mostly blank. I doodled in the margins, rings, torsos, outlines of bodies with no faces. My stomach twisted when I caught myself shading in thick thighs and narrow waists.
Casper’s voice kept looping in my head: Take care of it. Quickly. Mason’s too: Wouldn’t want the TA pulling another hair off you.
I couldn’t tell which haunted me more.
Every time I shifted in my seat, I swore I could still feel sweat drying on my skin. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t a big deal, guys joke around, Mason always talks shit, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the pube incident wasn’t over. That it meant something. That someone—maybe both of them—knew something I didn’t want to admit even to myself.
I went to the gym after lunch and tried to focus on my own routine. Nothing fancy, just parallel bars and some basic strength work. But even then, I felt exposed. Like someone could walk by and see that my muscles were tense for the wrong reasons. That I wasn’t just working out, I was coping.
That night, I stared at the ceiling long after lights-out. The room was quiet, just Mason’s slow breathing from the other bed and the occasional creak of the heater. I lay there, fully aware of my body, of the ache in my thighs, the edge that still hadn’t gone away.
I could only imagine what tomorrow would bring, and I’m pretty sure from the way I woke up that I did.
Hard, before the first alarm, every nerve still tingling with sexual current.
The air in the dorm was cold, and my limbs ached like they’d been clenched all night. I moved slowly, quietly, trying not to wake Mason as I dressed in the dark—singlet under sweats, hoodie zipped high, mouth dry. I didn’t even check my phone.
By the time I stepped outside, the campus was still asleep. The walk to the gym felt colder than usual, like my body was trying to remind me what it was about to walk back into.