Chapter 1

The summer heat clung to everything like a second skin, turning the club’s small gym into a sweatbox. I’d pushed myself through a brutal workout on the outdated machines, my muscles burning from the effort. Signing in with my dad’s membership card felt like a small rebellion—weekday afternoon, no one around, just me home from the city for the week.

As I staggered into the empty locker room, my shirt stuck to my chest, shorts damp against my thighs. I peeled them off without a second thought, stripping fully naked right there by the bench. My dripping clothes hit the wood in a wet heap, and I grabbed a towel, but didn’t wrap it around me yet.

The mirrors lined the walls, reflecting my lean frame from every angle. I paused, turning slowly, water—no, sweat—glistening on my smooth, hairless skin. My chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, nipples hard from the cool air hitting the heat of my body. I ran a hand down my abs, feeling the taut lines, then lower, watching my dick sway between my legs, half-hard already from the endorphin rush.

Fuck, I looked good like this—exposed, vulnerable, every inch on display. Since high school, this thrill had hooked me: strutting nude in places like this, the risk of eyes on me making my pulse race. Locker rooms were my playground, safe enough to show off, to steal glances at other guys’ bodies when they appeared. But today, alone, the emptiness amplified it all.

Exercise always left me horny, blood pumping straight to my groin. I clutched the towel loosely and headed to the showers, four stalls off the main bathroom area. The swinging saloon doors on each one offered a flimsy barrier—raised high enough that only feet showed below. I stepped into the end stall, the tile cool under my bare soles.

I hung the towel on a hook outside, fully committing to the nudity, and twisted the knob. Cool water cascaded down, shocking my overheated skin, rivulets tracing my shoulders, chest, dripping off my cock. I watched myself in the small mirror above the sink outside the stall, the steam starting to fog it, my reflection blurred but still me—naked, slick, mine to admire.

My dick stiffened fully under the spray, thickening in my hand as I gripped it at the base. I shouldn’t do this here, not in a place like this, but the wrongness fueled me. No one around, or so I thought. I’d perfected this at my city gym, ears tuned to footsteps, the slap of flip-flops, doors creaking.

One hint of company, and I’d stop, heart hammering from the near-miss. But days without release had me aching—my balls tight, cock pulsing needfully against my palm. I leaned my left hand on the wet tiled wall, bracing as water pounded my back. Spreading my legs wider, I wrapped my fist around my shaft, stroking slow at first, the soap from the dispenser slicking my length.

Eyes closed, I let the fantasy take over, the one that always pushed me closer to the edge. In my head, this wasn’t a private stall anymore. It was a wide-open gang shower, multiple heads steaming, men filing in after their workouts—tall, muscled guys with towels slung low, eyes locking on me. They see me like this: hand pumping my hard cock, legs apart, water sluicing over my ass. Whispers turn to stares, then chuckles.

“Look at this perv gooning,” one mutters, voice deep and rough, elbowing his buddy.

The friend snorts, pulling out his phone, light flashing as he records. “Fucking exhibitionist slut, beating his meat where everyone can see.”

Their laughter echoes off the tiles, throaty and mocking, drawing more over— a crowd now, pointing, jeering.

My strokes quicken, fist sliding from root to tip, thumb rubbing the sensitive underside of my head. The humiliation burns hot in my gut, mixing with the pleasure, making my cock throb harder. I imagine their disdain, the way they’d circle me, towels dropping as they compare.

“Kid’s got a babydick, but look at him go, desperate little bitch.”

One stepped closer in my mind, grabbing his own thickening cock, stroking in rhythm while calling me out. “You like this, huh? Getting off on us watching your pathetic show?”

The ridicule stings, but it twists into something electric, my breath hitching as pre-cum beads at my slit, washed away by the water. My free hand slides down, cupping my balls, tugging gently, the risk of it all—the door to the locker room just feet away—heightening every pull.

I bite my lip, stifling a groan, hips bucking into my grip. The fantasy deepens: phones out, videos capturing every stroke, every flush on my face. “Smile for the camera, you dirty fuck,” they taunt, voices overlapping in harsh baritones.

Someone laughs louder, slapping a hand on a thigh. “Bet he’s gonna cum right here, make a mess for us all to see.”

Shame floods me, cheeks burning even as my cock leaks more, the veins pulsing under my fingers. It’s wrong, so fucking wrong, but that’s the pull—the exposure, the mockery turning my solo act into a spectacle. My legs tremble, water splashing as I spread them further, ass clenching with each twist of my wrist.

A distant sound echoes—maybe a door? My heart slams, but I don’t stop, can’t stop. The fantasy blurs with reality: what if they really are coming? What if footsteps approach right now, catching me mid-stroke, fingers jerking my slick cock? The thought sends a jolt straight to my core, pleasure coiling tight. I pump faster, breath ragged, imagining their eyes on my hairless body, judging, laughing, wanting.

My mind races with their crude words: “Keep going, show us how you cum like a whore,” pushing me closer, the edge sharpening with every risky second.

Then reality hit me like a sledgehammer. A deep, gruff voice shouts, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He was older, maybe in his late fifties, heavyset with a barrel chest covered in a thick mat of graying hair that trailed down to his belly, which hung slightly over the waistband of his loose gym shorts. His skin was tanned and weathered, like he’d spent years outdoors, and his face was flushed red—part anger, part exertion from whatever he’d been doing in the gym.

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his dark eyes bored into mine, wide with disgust and something else I couldn’t place. His hand clamped down harder on my bicep, fingers digging into the muscle, holding me in place under the now-silent showerhead. Water still dripped from my body, pooling at our feet, but the air felt thicker, charged with his intrusion.

“Sorry, s-sir, I—” I stammered, my voice cracking as heat flooded my face.

Humiliation crashed over me like a wave, my cheeks burning hotter than the summer outside. I’d fantasized about this exact moment—being caught, exposed—but the reality hit different. My heart pounded in my ears, a mix of shame and that twisted arousal twisting in my gut. My cock, still rock-hard and jutting out obscenely, bobbed with the motion of my failed attempt to twist away. I slapped my hands over it again, trying to shield the throbbing length, the slick head peeking between my fingers. But he was too close, his bulk filling the stall, blocking any escape.

“Apologize? You think a sorry fixes this shit?” he barked, his voice gravelly and low, echoing off the tiles.

He slapped my hands away again, rougher this time, his palm stinging against my wet skin. My erection sprang free, fully exposed now—three inches of flushed, veiny need, the magenta head leaking pre-cum that trailed down the shaft. I could feel every inch of it, pulsing in the open air, betraying me completely. His eyes dropped to it, narrowing as he sneered.

“Look at you, you little pervert. Cock out, hard as a nail, gooning like a desperate slut in a public shower. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I shrank back against the wall, the cold tile biting into my ass cheeks, but there was nowhere to go. My mind raced—images from my fantasy flashing: the mocking crowd, the phones, the laughter.

But this was real, just one man, his hairy chest brushing mine as he leaned in closer, the coarse hairs scraping my smooth, sweat-slick skin. The contact sent a shiver through me, unwanted but electric, my nipples tightening into hard peaks. Water from my hair dripped onto his shoulder, but he didn’t flinch, his breath hot and ragged against my face, smelling faintly of stale coffee and sweat.

He reached past me, twisting the shower knob fully off with a sharp click, the last trickles fading to silence. Now it was just us, the steam dissipating, leaving my naked body fully visible under the harsh fluorescent light. My legs trembled, spread wide from my earlier stance, calves flexing as I fought the urge to clamp them shut.

I could feel the vulnerability of it all—my pale ass sticking out slightly, the white skin of my cheeks contrasting my lightly tanned legs, my tiny dick on full display like a pathetic offering. Shame burned in my chest, but god, my cock throbbed harder, the humiliation feeding that dark hunger I’d always chased.

“You like this, don’t you? Getting caught with your pants down—oh wait, no pants at all.” His voice dropped to a taunting growl, one hand still gripping my arm while the other hovered near my chest.

He pinched my left nipple suddenly, twisting it between rough fingers, the sharp pain jolting straight to my groin. I gasped, a whimper escaping my lips, my hips bucking involuntarily. My cock jerked, another bead of pre-cum oozing from the slit, sliding down to mix with the remnants of water on my balls.

“Filthy boy, look at that little thing leaking. Bet you’ve been edging yourself, dreaming of real men walking in on your nasty show.”

I bit my lip, trying to stifle the moan building in my throat, but it slipped out anyway—low and needy. His chest pressed fully against mine now, the dense hair tickling my skin, his belly soft against my abs. I could feel the heat radiating from him, his own breath quickening as he dominated the space, trapping me in this wet, confined hell.

“Please ... I didn’t mean—” I whispered, but it came out weak, my voice laced with that desperate lust I couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, a deep, mocking rumble that vibrated through our pressed bodies. “Didn’t mean to? Bullshit. You were moaning like a bitch in heat, weren’t you? Spreading those cheeks, wiggling your ass, putting on a show for anyone to see.”

His free hand trailed down, not touching my cock but close enough that I felt the air shift, my erection straining toward it. He squeezed my bicep harder, pulling me forward slightly, forcing my hips to grind against his thigh through his shorts. The friction made me hiss, pleasure spiking despite the shame flooding my veins. Tears pricked my eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming mix: exposed, ridiculed, and so fucking turned on I could barely think.

“Admit it, kid. You wanted eyes on this pathetic gooning session. My eyes, now.” My body betrayed me again, cock pulsing visibly, the head swelling as his words sank in. Trapped between the wall and his bulk, I felt small, vulnerable—my fantasy made flesh, the mockery stripping me bare. But instead of pulling away, I leaned into it, breath hitching, waiting for whatever came next in this twisted game.

His words hung in the air, thick and mocking, as his grip tightened on my arm. I recognized him then, through the haze of humiliation— one of those stern-faced older guys who haunted the club, always glowering from the corners of the gym. Mid-60s, solidly built with a sizable, hairy belly that strained against his white tennis shorts. His face was naturally sour, thick lips pursed peevishly under a bulbous nose, bushy eyebrows overhanging eyes ringed with deep shadows.

A thick walrus mustache hid his mouth, but it couldn’t muffle the gravel in his voice. He was an inch shorter than me, but outweighed me by forty pounds easy, his barrel chest a heavy, wooly expanse of peppery black and gray hair that made my mostly bare pecs feel embarrassingly smooth and boyish in comparison.

Before I could process it, he yanked me forward, his fingers like iron on my bicep. “Get out of there! Come here, boy!” he snarled, dragging me from the shower stall.

My feet slipped on the wet tiles, and my boner bounced wildly in the shuffle—slapping first against my thigh, then roughly against his hairy belly as he manhandled me. The impact sent a jolt through my shaft, the veiny length smacking the coarse hair and soft give of his gut with a wet thwack. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge it, just kept pulling me into the open locker room, the cool air hitting my dripping skin like a slap.

I stumbled after him, hardly resisting, overwhelmed by the embarrassment crashing through me. My vision blurred with shame, cheeks burning as my hard cock jutted out obscenely, bobbing with every awkward step. The locker room was still empty—thank god—but the vulnerability clawed at me, exposed under the harsh lights, water trailing from my body in rivulets that soaked the floor.

He spun me around and shoved me hard against the cool metal of the locker room wall, the edge biting into my back. His hands were rough, forcing my legs wide apart, knees trembling as he pinned me there, my ass cheeks spreading slightly against the unyielding surface.

“A gooner, huh?! A goddamn public fapper!” he barked, his face inches from mine, spit flecking my cheek. “Playing with your little pecker like a pervert and then shooting your disgusting jizz where you please, huh? Leave it for poor old Mr. Hanson to clean up?”

Each word came with a swat to the back of my head, sharp and stinging, like I was a naughty kid caught stealing. I accepted them, head ducking, bewildered and small under his onslaught. The reference to the ancient custodian—who’d been scrubbing these floors since my dad was young—twisted the knife deeper, making it all feel so dirty, so wrong.

My wrists were next, his meaty hands grabbing them and wrenching them behind my back, pinning them there with one vise-like grip. I gasped, chest heaving, my lean body arched against the lockers, fully on display.

My cock throbbed in the open air, tiny and desperate—three inches of flushed need, the head slick with pre-cum that dripped steadily now, pooling on the tile between my spread feet. He loomed over me, his hairy belly brushing my abs, the dense pelt scraping my smooth skin like sandpaper. I felt every hair, every inch of his weight pressing in, his sour breath washing over my face.

“Look at this pathetic little thing,” he sneered, his free hand gesturing at my erection without touching it, eyes locked on the twitching shaft. “Tiny cock, all hard and leaking like a faucet. You call that a dick? Bet it barely fills your fist, you scrawny perv.” His voice dripped with mockery, low and taunting, each word stripping me further.