Courtside

 

He is so fuckin hot. Elijah Toussaint. What a stud. You’ve come to the same gym for years, and the moment you saw him join the club, you were hooked. Laid back, cocky, a little rowdy, but you know he has some sort of energy about him that you find entirely irresistible.

Every now and again he nods his head at you, acknowledging your presence at least, and for a while that was enough. The butterflies you had in your stomach lasted all day until you could get home and shoot the tension right out into your rag. The way that ripped, tatted body glistens with sweat when the light hits him, those light minty eyes that sparkle like gems, the wet hot musk that trails behind him as he passes… every inch of him is a present just waiting to be unwrapped.

It wasn’t long before that little nod and piercing glance just didn’t satisfy you the way it used to. So you had to up the ante a bit. After his lifting, leaving his sticky sweat all over the benches, he always retreats to the basketball court to shoot some hoops with his “bro” Kai. Thus, you began to take your “cooldown time” in the bleachers of the court- doing whatever stretches gave you the easiest line of sight for that 6’2 Creole masterpiece.

As you bend over, touching the tip of your trainers as inconspicuously as you possibly could, Elijah catches a glimpse of your stare for the first time in the almost three weeks of your courtside voyeurism. He smirks and elbows Kai, whispering inaudibly in his ear. You quickly turn your head, furiously pretending to massage your neck muscles. The tip tap of the basketball ceased, and the unmistakable squeaking of sneakers crossing the shiny wooden court made your heart drop to your toes. They’d seen you. They know. They’re surely pissed, some creep is watching them from afar and thinking whatever nasty thoughts about them… A familiar wet heat radiates against your back, and you nervously turn to see the object of your filthy fantasies, his sweat stained bulge straining behind the black fabric of his shorts sits inches from your face. That sweet and sour smell of ripe balls smacks you, an involuntary shudder ripples down your spine.

“Yo, come play ball with us, more fun to join than it is to just watch.” You’ve never really played basketball before, let alone with two studs who can shoot baskets from the opposite end of the court. But something about the invitation feels less of a offer, and more of a demand. There’s a sense of authority in his voice, and being flanked by a cross-armed Kai in his periphery insinuated that you are to do as you’re told. You dumbly nod, as Elijah’a huge inked hand slaps your back in affirmation. “Dope. Hey Kai, grab the ball will y’a?”

Kai smiles and walks over to Elijah’s duffel bag and begins to rummage through the various clothes, before he pulls out an extremely old, worn basketball. The leather is cracked and dulled, it’s scuffed and stained, and the sweaty jock smirks as he tosses you the ball.

“Catch.” The ball flies from his fingers directly at your face, you flinch and close your eyes, preparing for impact. But the pain never comes. You open your eyes to Kai’s giggles and Elijah having caught the ball mid air with one hand inches away from the tip of your nose. The smell of old rubber and age old sweat permeates your nose- the ball is well loved and used for quite some time.

“Gonna have to learn to catch, bruh. C’mon. On your feet.” You grasp Elijah’s firm hand, and he effortlessly pulls you to your feet. You’re eye level with the stud’s firm, meaty pecs resisting the deafening urge to take a quick taste of the salty dew. “This ball’s good for gettin’ started. You’ll be a pro in no time.” He offers you the ball, his sweaty handprint still wet on the smooth rubber. Caught up in the fantasy of it all, you don’t think twice- you do as Elijah tells you. You gingerly reach out and touch the ball, and upon the tip of your finger landing on it, a shock of electricity rings throughout your body.

As if on its own entirely, your hand picks up the ball, tossing it into the air and dribbling as if you’ve played for years. You’re completely in shock, your clumsiness melts away, and your mind relinquishes control of the body. Elijah smiles, and the three of you eagerly get into position. Your thoughts are foggy and your vision ever so slightly blurry, yet as your body begins to dribble, jump, sprint, and dodge, you begin to feel a sense of invasion.

It starts in your fingers, expertly handling the ball with every bounce. They feel stronger, firmer, and from the glimpses that you can catch from your perspective, the veins begin to pulsate and bulge. The ball begins to feel completely comfortable, almost an extension of your arm as your fingertips callous and lengthen, two big mitts disproportionate to your arms… for now.

“Ay! Make the shot!” Elijah shouts at you, your body responding immediately. Your wrists flick the ball airborne, as the veins in your forearm begin to pulsate themselves. Swish. The sound of the ball flying into the net is instant serotonin to you. Your arms feel firmer, tighter, as if the blood flowing through your veins is inflating into your bicep with every pump and as Kai tosses you the ball, you catch it with one hand, just as Elijah had done. You get your first good look at your arms, now bulging with hard earned muscle, inked in designs of unknown significance.

Round two, you’re already starting to sweat like a pig- ripping your shirt off and tossing it aside feels like liberation from the agitating restraint. As you twist and dodge, blocking Elijah’s swatting hands your chest starts to feel leaner, more cut, stronger. Your skin compresses around your thickening pecs as washboard abs pop out of your slender yet packed torso.

“Dunk it, bro!” Kai shouts, while Elijah’s wide span and palpable cockiness blocks the hoop. You twist, your stronger midsection now flexible and limber enough to skim past him. The squeaking of your shoes echo throughout the cavernous room, a sound that seems all the more natural to you. Before the hoop, you bend your knees as your firmly planted feet begin to expand and grow, your trainers seemingly stretching with a newfound elasticity to accommodate their new size 15 boats. Your socks start to stretch upward, turning an off white from considerable repeat usage, even so much to where your sticky, slick toes can feel holes ripping through the damp fabric. Your well loved, broken in high tops now feel like a snug home to your musky soles, the insole permanently indented with your high arch and imbued with your essence.

Your powerful feet propel you upward with ease, the sensation of weightlessness washes over you while your legs elongate and flood with thick muscle and a nice dusting of coarse curly hair. Swish. You dunk the ball into the hoop, holding onto the rim with effortless strength before plummeting to the ground, landing on your feet with a hefty thud. You swipe your hand against your forehead, wiping the beads of sweat from your darkening brown eyes and sculpted brow. You catch a subtle whiff of the sharp, tangy funk emanating from the wirey forest of hair in your pits- undeterred by the underlying Old Spice trying in vain to mask the powerful scent. Elijah saunters over to you, that sexy, gorgeous face of his now at eye level with you.

“Fuck, babe. Good game.” Your hands collide in a firm grip before your body pulls him close, locking your plump, silky lips together as your tongues explore each other’s mouths. You feel your sense of self starting to dissipate and fade, every moment of tasting that smoky, cannabid tongue of his surrenders more and more to the passion and virility. You feel a probing hand sneaking into your shorts from behind, snaking it’s way into the wet pouch of your jock to cup and massage your thick, uncut rod and heavy balls. Kai kisses the back of your neck, toying with your groin all the while. It’s too much for your consciousness to handle. The pressure builds to boiling point, your broken thoughts finally recede into oblivion along with the last remnants of who you once were.

Elijah bites your lip as you moan in your deep chocolatey voice and allow yourself to release. Ropes of warm, sticky spunk shoot out of your cock into the jock and Kai’s slick hand. Cum dripping from your shorts, doused in sweat, musty pheromones emitting from every crevice, you pull away from your boyfriends a panting mess. Kai’s hand retreats from your pouch, finding it’s way to his face while he inhales your scent and tastes your seed.

“Fuuuuck, babe. Meet us in the sauna, I need a taste of those puppies and that ass.” He playfully kicks your feet and gropes a handful of your plump ass. You smirk and pull him close for one last sloppy kiss before jogging over to the locker room, eager to get some filthy action from the men he loves.