Roommate Worship 9

Everyone in this story is 18+

It was one of those gross, sticky summer days where the sun feels like it’s peeling your skin off, and the humidity glues your shirt to your back five seconds after stepping outside. Not that Wes seemed to care—of course he didn’t. He didn’t even bother wearing a shirt. Classic Wes.

Instead, he strutted down the street beside me, glistening with sweat like some kind of Greek god in an energy drink commercial. His tan skin shimmered in the sun, abs flexing with each step, and his shorts—if you could even call them that—were more like glorified boxer briefs. Every time they rode up his thighs, I had to remind myself not to stare. Or walk into a mailbox.

Wes noticed, naturally. He always noticed.

"You keep lookin’ like that, and I’m gonna think you want me to bend you over before we even get inside," he said, his voice smug and sassy.

I rolled my eyes, trying to look unaffected. “We’re banned from two gyms, Wes. Two. Did you really have to dare me to suck you off right there in the locker room showers?”

He grinned, completely unrepentant. "You didn’t have to do it. You wanted to."

“Yeah, well, I also wanted to not be on a blacklist at every fitness center in the city.”

Wes laughed, pushing the door open to the dingy, near-abandoned gym he found through a friend of a friend. The place was more warehouse than wellness center—half the equipment looked like it was from the '90s and the air conditioning was… nonexistent. But it was private, no cameras, and no one cared what you did as long as you didn’t burn the place down.

We had the whole place to ourselves.

Wes didn’t bother grabbing a towel or stretching. He walked straight to the free weights and dropped down for a set of push-ups like his body hadn’t already run half a mile in sweltering heat just to get here. His back muscles rippled, sweat already starting to bead along his spine. I watched from the edge of a weight bench, trying not to be obvious about how my mouth was going dry.

After a while, Wes stood up, chest heaving, hair slick with sweat, and pointed toward the back room. “Hey, come help me grab those old weights in the storage closet. You know, if you’re done drooling.”

“Wasn’t drooling,” I muttered, following him.

He led the way through a narrow hallway lined with cracked mirrors and posters from fitness campaigns that looked like they predated smartphones. The storage closet was at the very end, the door slightly ajar. Inside, it was dark and dusty, filled with mats, weights, and a tangled mess of old jump ropes and resistance bands.

Wes stepped inside, the tight space making his already large presence feel overwhelming. I squeezed in behind him, brushing against his damp skin.

He didn’t move.

Instead, he turned slowly, eyes gleaming. “Kinda tight in here, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard.

“Bet I could make it tighter.”

Before I could react, he grabbed me by the hips and spun me around, pushing me gently but firmly against a stack of padded mats. His lips were on my neck a second later, biting and kissing as his hands roamed my sides, slipping under my shirt.

“Wes—” I tried, but it came out as more of a gasp.

“You love it when I get like this,” he whispered, one hand already tugging at the waistband of my shorts. “Hot, sweaty, aggressive—you go crazy for it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I braced myself against the mats as he dropped to his knees behind me, pulling my shorts down just far enough to expose my ass. He opened the cheeks and spat right on my hole, giving me goosebumps as he started fingering it, barely giving me anytime to adjust and I panted like a bitch without meaning to.

“I’ve been thinking about this since we left the apartment,” Wes croaked out, standing again. “Now I’m gonna have a little fun with you.”

He reached over to a tangled pile of jump ropes and resistance bands and picked one up, testing the stretch. My heart pounded.

“Don’t worry,” he said, amused by my expression. “Nothing crazy. Just want to see you.”

He tied my wrists behind my back—not tight, just enough for control—and pressed his body against mine, grinding slowly as he kissed the back of my neck.

“Fuck, you smell so good like this,” he groaned. “All sweaty and worked up. You’re my dirty little gym slut, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Only yours.”

He pulled my cheeks apart again, chuckling. “You’re already so slick for me. God, I love this pussy.”

He didn’t waste time. He positioned his hard dick and pushed inside, the stretch making me gasp as I arched into him. The pressure, the heat, the feel of him—every inch as good as last time.

Wes set a brutal rhythm almost immediately, hips slamming into me with the force of pent-up lust. The ropes dug lightly into my wrists as I braced myself, my cries echoing off the storage room walls.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so tight,” he hissed, one hand gripping my waist, the other snaking around to stroke me in time with his thrusts. “You take me like you were made for this.”

“Wes—harder—please,” I begged.

He grunted and slammed deeper, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the creak of the storage shelves. Sweat dripped off his brow onto my back as he bent over me, panting against my ear.

“Not stopping,” he growled. “Not until I fuck the brains outta my favorite slut.”

I was gone. Utterly gone. Everything blurred into heat and friction and the overwhelming presence of him. When he finally filled me with his nut, it was with a shout, biting into my shoulder as he continued to unleash cum inside me.

I came seconds later, legs trembling, the pressure finally breaking me leaving a puddle of semen on the floor in front of me.

After a while Wes reached up and tugged at the jump rope, freeing my hands with a sly grin.

“So,” he said, chest still rising and falling, “that’s three gyms we probably can’t go back to.”

I grinned, resting my head against his shoulder. “Totally worth it.”