The next evening, I was already half-hard before we even got back to the dorm.
We'd just finished a joint practice—football and cheer team doing conditioning together in the gym. The whole time, Sammy had been "accidentally" bending over right in front of me. Every. Single. Time. Picking up water bottles. Stretching. Adjusting his shoes. And those tiny practice shorts he wore left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I'd spent two hours watching that perfect bubble butt flex and bounce and jiggle, the fabric riding up to show the bottom curves of his cheeks, and my compression shorts had been fighting a losing battle against my semi the entire walk back.
"Fuck, it's hot in here," Sammy said as we walked into our dorm room.
He wasn't wrong. The AC had broken again, and the room was stuffy and warm, the air thick and still. We were both already sweating from practice, our shirts clinging to our bodies.
Sammy peeled his tank top off, and I watched a bead of sweat roll down his spine and disappear into the waistband of those tiny shorts. My cock twitched in my compression shorts.
"You gonna shower?" I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
"Nah," Sammy said, turning to look at me with that knowing smile. "I've got something else in mind."
He hooked his thumbs into his shorts and pushed them down, and my breath caught. Underneath, he was wearing a jockstrap—white, tight, the straps framing his ass like it was a fucking gift wrapped just for me.
"Holy fuck," I breathed.
"Like it?" Sammy asked, turning around slowly so I could see how the straps cut across his cheeks, how they made his ass look even more perfect and round and edible.
"Yeah," I said, unable to look away.
"Good," he said, walking over to the door and locking it with a decisive click. "Because tonight, big guy, I'm gonna teach you something new."
He went to his desk and pulled out his laptop, setting it up on the surface and angling it toward my bed. Then he dimmed the lights until the room was bathed in a soft, warm glow that made the sweat on our skin glisten.
"Strip," Sammy ordered, and there was something different in his voice—more commanding, more dominant.
I obeyed without thinking, pulling off my shirt and then my compression shorts and boxers. My cock sprang free, already half-hard and starting to leak.
"Fuck, look at you," Sammy said appreciatively, his eyes roaming over my body. "Already getting hard for me. Get on the bed. Back against the headboard, legs spread wide."
I climbed onto my bed and positioned myself like he said, my back against the headboard, my thick thighs spread apart. My cock was getting harder by the second, lying heavy against my abs.
Sammy grabbed something from his nightstand—a bottle I'd never seen before. The label said "Stroke Oil" in bold letters, and when he opened it, I could smell something sweet and slick.
"You've been such a good boy letting me edge you every day," Sammy said, climbing onto the bed and kneeling between my spread legs. "But you're ready for the real shit now."
He poured the oil directly onto my cock, and I gasped at the sensation—warm and slick, coating my shaft until it was glistening in the dim light. Sammy's hand wrapped around me and started spreading the oil, stroking slowly from base to tip.
"Fuck," I groaned, my hips jerking up.
"Easy," Sammy said. "Tonight I'm gonna teach you how to goon. You know what that is?"
I shook my head, unable to form words as his hand kept working my cock.
"Gooning is when you edge yourself for hours," Sammy explained, his voice low and hypnotic. "Not jerking off to cum—worshipping your cock. Getting so deep into it that your brain turns off and all you can think about is the pleasure. No thoughts, no worries, just your fat cock and the feeling of stroking it. Sound good?"
"Hours?" I managed to gasp.
"Hours," Sammy confirmed with a wicked grin. "We're talking brain off, cock hard, completely stupid with pleasure. And you're not allowed to cum until I say so. Think you can handle that?"
I should have told him that sounded insane. But instead I heard myself say, "Yes."
"Good boy," Sammy praised, and the words sent a shiver through me. "Now, rule one: slow. Stupid slow. No death grip. You're not jerking off to cum—you're worshipping your cock."
He guided my hand to my own shaft, wrapping my fingers around the oil-slicked length. The sensation was incredible—warm, slick, my cock throbbing in my grip.
"Start stroking," Sammy instructed. "Base to tip. Nice and slow. Twist at the head. Feel every vein, every ridge. Good. Just like that."
I started stroking myself, and the oil made everything feel amplified—every touch, every sensation. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and filthy.
"That's it," Sammy encouraged, sitting cross-legged between my thighs like some kind of filthy teacher. "Look at how fucking huge you are. Twelve inches of pure jock meat. Keep stroking... nice and slow. Feel it throb in your hand."
He reached over to his laptop and clicked something, and suddenly the screen filled with porn. But not just any porn—gay porn. Muscled guys with huge cocks, stroking themselves slowly, their faces slack with pleasure. Close-ups of thick shafts glistening with lube. Guys with massive pecs having their nipples played with while they edged.
"Watch the screen," Sammy said. "See how they stroke? Slow and worshipful. That's what you're gonna do."
I couldn't look away. The guys on screen were huge, built like me, and they were completely lost in pleasure, their eyes half-lidded, mouths open, stroking their cocks with this reverent, mindless rhythm.
"Now pinch those fat pec tits while you stroke," Sammy instructed.
My free hand moved to my chest, my fingers finding my nipple and pinching it. Pleasure shot straight to my cock, and I groaned.
"Yeah, just like that," Sammy said. "Roll your nipples. Fuck, they're getting so hard for me already. Keep stroking that big cock while you play with your tits."
I did as he said, my hand working my shaft in long, slow strokes while my other hand played with my nipples. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and I could feel myself getting close already.
"Stop," Sammy commanded.
I froze, my hand releasing my cock, and I whimpered at the loss of sensation.
"Hands off. Breathe," Sammy said. "Look at my hole."
He turned around, still on his hands and knees between my legs, and reached back to spread his ass cheeks. The jockstrap framed his perfect bubble butt, and when he spread himself, I could see his hole—pink and tight, clenching slightly.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" Sammy asked, his voice teasing. "This is what you've been staring at, dreaming about. My perfect jock pussy."
"Yes," I breathed, my cock twitching and leaking precum onto my abs.
"Good," Sammy said, releasing his cheeks and turning back around. "Now start stroking again. Slower this time."
I wrapped my hand around my cock and started stroking, even slower than before. The oil made everything slick and smooth, and I could hear the wet sounds of my hand working my shaft.
"That's it," Sammy encouraged. "Nice and slow. You're doing so good. Now watch me."
He poured some of the stroke oil onto his own cock and started stroking himself, his hand moving in the same slow, worshipful rhythm he'd taught me. His eyes were locked on mine, and he moaned softly.
"See how good it feels?" he asked. "Just slow, mindless stroking. No rush. Just pleasure."
I watched him stroke himself, watched his cock get harder and start leaking, and my own hand unconsciously matched his rhythm. We were stroking together now, both of us slick and hard, the wet sounds filling the room.
"Fuck, Darren," Sammy moaned. "Your cock is so fucking big. I love watching you stroke it. Keep going. Don't stop."
I kept stroking, my eyes moving between Sammy's hand on his cock, the porn on the laptop screen, and Sammy's face—his lips parted, his eyes dark with lust.
"Now use both hands," Sammy instructed. "One on your cock, one playing with your balls and taint."
I did as he said, my left hand continuing to stroke my shaft while my right hand moved lower, cupping my heavy balls and then sliding back to rub my taint. The sensation made me gasp.
"Good boy," Sammy praised. "Feel how sensitive you are back there? That's because you're getting so gooned. Your whole body is waking up to pleasure."
He was right. Every touch felt amplified, like my nerve endings were on fire. I could feel the oil on my cock, the weight of my balls in my hand, the pressure of my fingers on my taint, and it was all building into this overwhelming wave of sensation.
"Getting close?" Sammy asked.
"Yeah," I panted.
"Stop. Hands off. Breathe."
I released my cock with a groan, my hands falling to my sides. My cock was throbbing, angry and purple, leaking a steady stream of precum that pooled on my abs.
"Look at how much you're leaking," Sammy said, reaching out to swipe his finger through the precum on my stomach. He brought it to his mouth and licked it off, moaning. "Fuck, you taste good."
I watched him lick my precum off his finger, and my cock jerked, another drop leaking from the tip.
"You're doing so good," Sammy said. "But we're just getting started. I'm gonna make you goon so hard you forget your own name."
He turned around again, presenting his ass to me, and this time he reached back with both hands and spread his cheeks wide. His hole was right there, pink and perfect, and as I watched, he pressed a finger against it.
"Watch me finger my jock pussy," Sammy said, his voice breathy. "Watch me get it ready for your huge cock."
He pushed his finger inside, and I watched it disappear into his tight heat. He moaned, the sound going straight to my cock, and started working his finger in and out.
"Fuck," I groaned, my hand unconsciously moving back to my cock.
"That's it," Sammy encouraged. "Stroke while you watch me finger myself. Slow strokes. Don't cum."
I stroked myself slowly, my eyes glued to the sight of Sammy's finger sliding in and out of his hole. He added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching himself, and the wet sounds mixed with his moans.
"You want this, don't you?" Sammy asked, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Want to slide that fat cock into my jock pussy and fuck me stupid."
"Yes," I groaned. "Fuck, yes."
"Not yet," he said, pulling his fingers out. "First you're gonna goon for me until you're completely brain-dead. Until all you can think about is cock and ass and pleasure."
He turned back around and moved closer, straddling my face. His ass was right above me, his hole still slick from his fingers, and the smell of him—sweat and musk and something uniquely Sammy—filled my nose.
"Eat my ass while you stroke," Sammy ordered. "Tongue deep, gooner. This is what your cock wants."
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed his hips and pulled him down, my tongue immediately finding his hole and licking across it. Sammy moaned, his body shuddering, and I felt his hole clench against my tongue.
"Fuck yes," Sammy gasped. "Tongue deeper. Get in there."
I pushed my tongue inside him, tasting him, feeling the tight ring of muscle give way. My hand was still on my cock, stroking slowly, and the combination of sensations—his taste, his smell, the feeling of my cock in my hand—was driving me insane.
"That's it," Sammy moaned. "Eat my jock pussy while you stroke that big dumb cock. You're such a good gooner for me."
I ate his ass like I was starving, my tongue pushing deep, licking and sucking and tasting every inch of him. Sammy was grinding back against my face, moaning constantly, and I could feel his cock dripping precum onto my chest.
"Keep stroking," Sammy reminded me. "Slow and steady. Don't stop."
I kept stroking, my hand working my shaft in that slow, worshipful rhythm while my tongue fucked his hole. I was completely lost in it—the taste of him, the smell of him, the wet sounds of my tongue and my hand, the feeling of pleasure building and building.
"Getting close again?" Sammy asked.
"Mmhmm," I moaned against his hole.
"Stop stroking. Keep eating."
I released my cock and focused entirely on eating his ass, my tongue pushing as deep as it would go. Sammy was moaning non-stop now, his hole clenching around my tongue, and I could feel him shaking.
After what felt like forever, Sammy climbed off my face and turned around. My face was wet with spit and his taste, and my cock was throbbing, desperate for attention.
"You're doing so fucking good," Sammy said, reaching out to stroke my cheek. "Look at you—all messy and desperate. Your eyes are already getting glassy."
He was right. I felt different—like my brain was starting to go fuzzy, like all I could think about was pleasure and Sammy's body and my aching cock.
"Ready for the next part?" Sammy asked.
I nodded, unable to form words.
He reached into his nightstand and pulled out something small and black—a prostate massager. My eyes widened.
"Ever had anything in your ass before?" Sammy asked.
"No," I managed to say.
"You're gonna love it," he promised. "Trust me."
He poured lube on the toy and on his fingers, then reached between my legs. I felt his finger press against my hole, and I tensed.
"Relax," Sammy said softly. "Just breathe. I'm gonna make you feel so good."
He rubbed my hole gently, getting me used to the sensation, and slowly I felt myself relax. Then his finger pushed inside, and I gasped at the intrusion.
"That's it," Sammy encouraged. "Just breathe. Feel how good that is."
He worked his finger in and out, and after the initial weirdness, it started to feel... good. Really good. He added more lube and then pressed the toy against my hole.
"This is gonna feel intense," Sammy warned. "But I want you to start stroking again while I put it in. Slow strokes. Focus on your cock."
I wrapped my hand around my shaft and started stroking as Sammy slowly pushed the toy inside me. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but then it was in and—
"Oh fuck!" I cried out as the toy pressed against something inside me that made my whole body light up with pleasure.
"There it is," Sammy said with satisfaction. "That's your prostate. Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Fuck, yes," I groaned, my hand speeding up on my cock.
"Slow," Sammy reminded me, his hand covering mine and forcing me to slow down. "Remember—we're gooning, not cumming. Slow, worshipful strokes."
He turned on the toy, and it started vibrating inside me. The sensation was incredible—this deep, throbbing pleasure that radiated through my whole body. Combined with stroking my cock, it was almost too much.
"Holy shit," I panted. "Sammy, I can't—"
"Yes you can," he said firmly. "You're gonna stroke that big cock while that toy massages your prostate, and you're gonna goon for me. Brain off. Just feel."
I kept stroking, my hand moving in that slow, steady rhythm while the toy vibrated inside me. The pleasure was building and building, this overwhelming wave that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Look at the screen," Sammy instructed. "Watch those guys goon."
I looked at the laptop, and the video had changed. Now it showed a huge, muscled guy lying back just like me, stroking his massive cock with this blissed-out expression on his face. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth open, and he was completely lost in it.
"That's gonna be you," Sammy said. "Completely stupid with pleasure. Nothing in that big dumb jock brain except cock and ass and gooning."
He started stroking himself again, and we fell into a rhythm—both of us stroking slowly, the wet sounds filling the room, the toy vibrating inside me, the porn playing on the screen.
"You're gooning so good for me, Darren," Sammy said, his voice low and hypnotic. "Look at your eyes—all glassy and dumb. That's my big stupid jock goon. Keep pumping... don't you dare cum. This cock belongs to my jock pussy now."
The words should have bothered me, should have made me feel embarrassed or emasculated. But instead they just made me harder, made me leak more, made me want to keep stroking forever.
Time started to blur. I don't know how long we stayed like that—stroking, edging, stopping, starting again. Sammy kept up a constant stream of filthy encouragement:
"That's it,.. worship that huge cock..."
"Look how much you're leaking... your body knows what it wants..."
"Such a good gooner... so obedient... so desperate..."
"This is what you were made for... gooning on that fat cock while staring at my perfect ass..."
Every time I got close to cumming, Sammy would make me stop. Sometimes he'd let me get right to the edge, my balls tightening, my breathing ragged, and then—
"Stop. Hands off."
And I'd have to sit there, shaking and whimpering, my cock throbbing and leaking, while Sammy watched with that satisfied smile.
Other times he'd let me have a ruined orgasm—just barely touching my cock as I came, so only a weak spurt would leak out without any real relief. It was torture. My cock would twitch and pulse, a thin stream of cum dribbling out, but there was no satisfaction, no release. Just more desperate need.
"Good boy," Sammy would say. "Stay hard for me. Keep gooning."
And I would. My cock never went soft, just stayed hard and throbbing and leaking, ready for more.
Sammy made me switch hands, made me use both hands at once—one stroking my shaft, one playing with my balls and the base of the toy. He made me hump my own fist while he sat on my face again, grinding his ass against my tongue.
"Eat my jock pussy while you fuck your fist," Sammy moaned. "Fuck, you're such a good little gooner. Tongue deeper. Make me feel it."
I was completely lost in it now. My brain had gone fuzzy, all my thoughts reduced to simple, desperate needs: stroke, lick, please, more, Sammy, cock, ass, goon.
The toy inside me kept vibrating, kept pressing against that spot that made my whole body light up. My cock was so sensitive now that every stroke sent sparks of pleasure through me. My nipples were hard and aching, and every time Sammy leaned forward to pinch or lick them, I nearly came.
"Look at you," Sammy said, climbing off my face and sitting back to admire me. "You're a complete mess."
He was right. I could feel sweat pouring down my body, dripping off my chest and abs. My pecs were heaving with every breath, my nipples swollen and puffy from all the attention. My thighs were shaking, my abs clenched tight. My cock was an angry purple, completely coated in oil and precum, twitching wildly with every heartbeat.
And my face—I could feel it. My eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. My mouth was hanging open, and I was pretty sure I was drooling a little. I looked exactly like the guys in the porn—completely gooned out, brain-dead with pleasure.
"Sammy," I heard myself whimper. "Please... fuck... I'm so gooned... need your ass... please..."
"I know," Sammy said, and I could see he was just as worked up as me. His cock was rock hard and leaking, his chest flushed, his breathing heavy. "You've been such a good boy. You've gooned so well for me."
He reached back and spread his ass cheeks, and I could see his hole winking at me, clenching and releasing.
"You want this?" he asked.
"Yes," I groaned. "Please, Sammy, please—"
"Then it's time," he said, climbing over me and straddling my hips. "Time to fuck your goon brain out, baby."
TO BE CONTINUED