Tag Archives: locker room sex

Masseurs Gone Wild: The College Locker Room

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Gone Wild: The College Locker Room, a hot new story by Happiest Ending!


“Oh shit, lemme tell Jeremy my dick got hard- Hang on.” Donald got up and poked his head out the door. He yelled, “Hey, Jeremy, you were wrong! Hey! You are a fucking idiot, man, I told you I can get hard for anything.”
Jeremy shouted something back. Ethan couldn’t hear what it was, but it made Donald guffaw, his thick body shaking as he did. Donald was a little ruddy right now, his rock-hard dick jutting out between his legs. He smiled at Ethan.
“Sorry, sorry, that’s my friend Jeremy. He’s a prickhole.” Donald knew that Ethan already knew Jeremy, he was just explaining because he forgot that fact. It was Jeremy who had urged Donald to come get a massage because Jeremy frequently did so.
“Sure, that’s fine. Just lay down, Donald. You have to stay still,” Ethan said.
Donald sheepishly laid back down on his belly on the table. He had such a perfectly thick ass that Ethan had to resist the urge to suck all the sweat off him. Donald was a rugby player for GHU, and Ethan was a masseur for the athletic department. He kneaded the flesh of Donald’s muscles. Donald closed his eyes, but he didn’t look particularly relaxed — he looked bored, like he was only doing this because someone had told him he should.
“Hey, do you massage girls too?”
“Yes,” Ethan said.
“Do you ever massage Katie Marleywine?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about other clients. What team is she on?”
“Oh, she doesn’t play any sports.”
Ethan sighed. “I work for the athletic department, Donald. If she’s not on a team, I can’t massage her.”
“But she’s like, superhot. If you were at a party, you’d offer to massage her. She’s so hot. She’s got tits that are like… amazing.” He thought for a long time but struggled to come up with any words to describe how awesome her tits were.
Ethan was shocked that Donald didn’t know he was gay. Ethan was slim, flamboyant, feminine. He normally never bothered to come out of the closet because it was obvious to everyone that he was gay.
In actuality, Ethan should have been even more shocked — Donald knew very well that Ethan was gay, he had simply forgotten. Donald’s friend Jeremy had urged him to come get a massage because it would lead to a happy ending, and Jeremy thought it would be hilarious if Donald got a handjob from a man. His teammates frequently dared each other to come let Ethan give them rimjobs (they had no reason to think Ethan would do so, they just thought the idea was funny). Donald had discussed Ethan being gay on several occasions, so there was no way he didn’t know.
But at the moment, Donald was thinking about girls. He had Katie Marleywine on the mind, and so it didn’t occur to him that Ethan was gay. How could anyone, he thought, not think Katie Marleywine was the most beautiful girl ever?
That was why his cock get hard. The more he thought about her, the harder his dick got, until it was sticking straight up and throbbing. Donald blushed.
“Donald, it’s okay-“
Donald sat up and looked at his dick. He smiled — he had no embarrassment. “Sorry, I get hard sometimes.” He got up again. “I’m-a go slap Jeremy in the face with it. I’ll be right back.”

Latino Alpha Jocks

Here’s a new story called Latino Alpha Jocks, a hardcore tale of Hispanic locker room action!

James picked up Oscar to bring him into the office. He didn’t normally do that for his clients, but it had become clear that Oscar needed some assistance. James had already given his financial spiel to the rest of the team, but Oscar hadn’t been available at the time. It was a league requirement that all new players had to sit consult with a financial planner like James, who was dedicated to his job. He genuinely wanted these athletes to be successful in their investments.

Oscar wasn’t making it easy, however. Oscar was a professional soccer player for the Los Angeles Strikers, and he was a big enough star that he got paid big bucks. But this had all begun rather suddenly for Oscar, and James had found it difficult to connect with him. Oscar was a notorious bad boy, already being called the “bad boy” of the team — he was a tattooed cholo who looked perpetually hostile,

“Did you look into those securities?” James asked as he pulled into the Strikers’ stadium parking lot.

Oscar grunted indeterminately. He got out of the car, grabbed his workout bag and headed in, low-slung khakis dragging behind his ass. James followed him.

“Oscar? Come on, man, you gotta do something with your money. Hey-“

“Okay,” was all he said. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, then disappeared into the locker room. James hesitated. As a gay man, he loved the idea of following him into a professional soccer team’s locker room before a practice; as a financial advisor, he wasn’t sure it would be appropriate.

“Howdy,” came a familiar voice. It was Coach Bolungu, a Cameroonian-British former player turned team coach for the Los Angeles Strikers. James had a good relationship with him and advised several of his players.

James quickly explained what was going on with Oscar, and Coach Bolungu nodded. He rolled his eyes as though not surprised that Oscar was being uncooperative. Then he opened the door and motioned for James to follow him into the locker room.

The air was humid from hot showers — a lot of the players showered both before and after practice — and the echoing of Spanish-inflected laughter echoed against the tile walls. James’ heart started pounding at the sight of a trio of lanky soccer players stark naked, walking to the showers with their towels thrown over their shoulders.

“Oscar!” Coach Bolungu bellowed.

Oscar poked his head around from the side of a bank of lockers, and he blanched at the sight of James’ smiling face. He screwed up his eyes at James and came forward. He was stark-naked, the hair on his chest stuck to his tattooed skin. He murmured something in Spanish as he stepped forward that made a few teammates nearby titter with laughter.

“Go to your meeting, Oscar!” Coach Bolungu said. “You have to listen to his presentation. It’s a rule.”

Oscar laughed. He put his hands on his hips. He spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, glaring at James, who blushed and looked away.

Coach Bolungu snapped back, “This is a league requirement, Oscar. If you do not invest your money, you will lose it all. I can’t let you play if you do not do this. It is not a matter for discussion.” He turned around and walked away.

Oscar peered at James very closely, as though inspecting him for flaws. James was suddenly acutely aware of his own sexuality. He wasn’t flamboyantly gay, but he didn’t take great efforts to hide it. He knew most of the players who had been around for awhile knew, but Oscar was brand-new to the team, so he probably wasn’t aware.

We did this already, Oscar. It’s not too bad.

Yeah, just do it. Not a gran cosa.

Do it! Quit gettin’ coach mad, or he gonna make us all run!

Don’t be a patada en los huevos!

The other players mostly chorused the same sentiment, in both English and Spanish. Oscar looked crestfallen, as though he had expected his teammates to be on his own — like he was a rebellious high schooler annoyed to learn his college classmates actually took school seriously.

“Uh, okay, Oscar… Mr. Hernandez,” James said, with some satisfaction that he was going to be able to do his job today after all. He didn’t know why some of these athletes resisted it so much; it really was in their best interest to manage their money effectively.  “Perhaps there is somewhere we could go? You… uh… You can put on some clothes. I can wait.”

Oscar scowled. He spoke, in thickly accented English, “Over there.” He pointed to an unused corner of the locker room. Then without putting any clothes on first, he headed in that direction. James followed, his eyes drawn inexorably to the man’s perky brown ass. His cholo tattoos extended to his waist but no farther, leaving a smooth, perfectly unblemished pair of asscheeks.

When they got to the unused corner of the locker room, James blushed. Oscar turned around quickly and saw him checking out his ass.

“You are queer, huh, gringo? I knew it…”

James nodded. He tried to clear his mind, to remind himself of what he came here to talk about — Oscar was losing money every day he failed to invest his salary. It really was important.

“I do not want to hear about money, gringo,” Oscar said. “I have plenty. But I will listen if I have to.”

“Uh, okay. This doesn’t have to be difficult,” James said. “It’s really very simple. I’m sure you’re familiar with a stock market, but let me explain some basic terminology so we can be sure we’re on the same page.” Once he got started, James felt better — he had never taught a naked man about financial responsibility, but if that’s what it took to reach Oscar, that’s what he would do.

Oscar sighed dramatically. He called out something in Spanish that James didn’t catch in time, but whatever it was, it made Oscar’s teammates burst into laughter. He got the impression Oscar complained about being horny since Oscar grabbed at his crotch when he spoke.

“Okay, when we talk about shares in a company,” James said. “That means you’ve purchased a small piece of the company. So if a business has a hundred shares available and you buy two, you own two percent of the company. If it has a million shares available, you own two millionths of the company.”

“Yo, I can’t listen to this shit,” Oscar said. “I’m too cachondo. Get to the part of this presentation where there’s strippers. Skip right to that.”


“Yeah, I’ll listen if a stripper explains this to me,” Oscar said with a cocky grin, as though he wanted to see if James would really arrange for a stripper to be his financial advisor. Then Oscar added, “A female! A female stripper, esse, don’t try to make look at a hombre.”

“Uh… Mr. Hernandez, I don’t have any strippers,” James said with a sigh.

“Then I don’t give a shit about any of this.” Oscar crossed his arms over his chest. His ropy muscles were tense, and his thick cock pulsated so close to James that he could feel its heat. Oscar frowned at him. He raised his eyebrows at James. “I’m not listening to a word until I get a blowjob, motherfucker. I’m a goddamn star!”

His heart pounding, James sunk to his knees. He didn’t really think Oscar would let him suck on that thick brown cock dangling between his legs, but James wanted to try — Oscar had specified a female stripper before, but he didn’t specify whom he wanted his blowjob from. If nothing else, James thought, this should lighten the mood.

Servicing a Basketball Team

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Servicing a Basketball Team, a new story in the Servicing Black Groups series of extreme str8core-worshiping gay erotica!  It’s also available for less than a dollar a story in the Complete Servicing Black Groups Series bundle!


“Okay, guys, I know this isn’t fun,” Stan said. “But it is important. You won’t be able to play basketball your whole lives, so the money you make now needs to work for you for a long time to come.”

The team sat in front of him in the locker room. Stan would have rather done this in a more formal environment, but Coach Willamette had said that if you take the players somewhere else, like Stan’s office, after the game, a lot of them will sneak away. You gotta git ‘em when they still in the locker room, Coach Willamette had said.

“Alright, before we talk about your options, let’s go over some terminology,” Stan said. “First off, risk. I’m sure you all use the word risk, but in finance it’s a very important concept. All investment is about balancing risk, and-“ Once he got into the flow, he could tune out any distractions; he had perfect tunnel vision for this presentation. After having given this exact spiel plenty of times, he had it more or less memorized.

But he was mid-monologue when he realized most of the team wasn’t paying attention. They were either on their phones or chatting with each other; one was distractedly rolling a joint.

“Hey, gentlemen, shut the fuck up!” Coach Willamette barked, his voice weary as though he shouldn’t have to say this. He jumped in front of Stan and barked at the players. They did shut up, but they glared at Coach Willamette, whose chestnut brown skin gleamed as he stared his team down. “This is an important presentation, and y’all gots to hear e’ry word of it.

A long pause followed. Stan wasn’t sure if this was normal, or if the players were seriously challenging Coach Willamette’s authority. Coach responded as though he expected them all to follow his commands without hesitation, and was offended when they looked at him like a crazy person for telling them what to do. There was a few rebellious snickers, and someone muttered, shut that ol’ nigga up.

“Get in the sauna!” Willamette said. “Now!”

The players groaned but stood. They clucked their tongues against their teeth as they sauntered away. More than a few glared at Coach Willamette as though they considered punching him, but decided not to go through with it.

Stan blushed and bristled. Was that it? Had he given up on the presentation and decided to just skip it? Did Coach Willamette think Stan was so useless as to make the presentation irrelevant? Stan was surprised how little of a chance he got — he basically hadn’t been able to grab their attention in the first thirty seconds, and Coach Willamette had just given right up? That didn’t seem fair.

Then Coach Willamette’s hefty hand clasped Stan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, hoss, they ain’t wanna pay attention to nobody. You can give your spiel in a sauna, right?”

“Uh… in a sauna?”

“They’ll be naked, you comfortable wit’ that? You ain’t gotta be naked too. I mean… you can’t really go in there in a suit, you gonna get heat stroke fo’ real. But you can go in their in yer drawers,” Willamette said, walking away.

Stan’s heart started pounding. He was an openly gay man — though he wasn’t sure Coach Willamette knew that — so he certainly didn’t mind hanging out in a sauna with a bunch of naked basketball players. But would they mind if he was in there? What if he got a hardon?

The boisterous chatting of the players made it easy for him to find the sauna, which was down the hall at the far end of the locker room. Stan patiently folded his clothes up and left them on the bench outside the sauna. He kept his boxer shorts and a t-shirt on, since he knew his body would look pitiful in comparison to the players’. He wasn’t in bad shape, but he was skinny and short.

Yo, Coach, where dat white man at? My balls is stickin’ to my thighs, nigga! I gots bitches begging me to cum over, man! Let’s hurry dis shit up!

In Ukraine Gymnastics Is a Macho Sport

Here’s a sample from In Ukraine Gymnastics Is a Macho Sport, the last story in the hardcore Eastern European str8core alpha worship series Handprints in Chalk on a Mat.


Jason didn’t lose deliberately, but he later decided he was glad that he had fumbled his routine. He lost his balance at the last moment on the balance beam. Ordinarily, it would have been frustrating, but this was not an important match, it was the first of the season. At the time of the match, he had no idea what was about to happen, so he was depressed about losing. He didn’t want to get cut from the team.

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one who had done poorly. They were all a bit rusty, and one of his teammates, Charlie, had even been late. Coach Winslow hated that, which meant Jason hadn’t messed up the worst out of everyone. He was, however, still disappointed in himself.

After Coach Winslow gave them a stern lecture about this weekend’s tournament, Jason hurried into the locker room with the other gymnasts. He and his American teammates were all together. They were lean and ropy-muscled men with smooth, shaved bodies and delicate faces; they were entirely gay, with the exception of Charlie who claimed to be bisexual though no one ever saw him with a girl.

The one person who didn’t fit in was Ivan. He was not American at all; he was from Ukraine, having recently transferred in on a gymnastics scholarship. He was big and muscly and hairy (apparently Ukrainian gymnasts didn’t shave their bodies), and most intriguingly of all, he was straight.

It seemed almost impossible to believe, Jason thought — a heterosexual gymnast at a major American university. But it seemed Ivan was indeed straight. He was even spotted with a girl in the Students’ Union.

Ivan got naked right away in the locker room, then sat around and talked as though this was some sort of Russian bathhouse. Jason suspected he had no idea the entire team was gay. The other gymnasts were nervous around him, but Ivan didn’t seem to notice. As he sat down, sweaty hairs stuck to his skin, he eyed Jason with a mean leer.

“You have to do hand,” he said, with a handjob motion. “Is that right? You fall off balance beam. That was rule, yes?”

Jason’s heart thumped. He and the others had never thought Ivan would really buy this. It was just a silly prank, and it seemed much more harmless when it was just an idea, and when he hadn’t known it’d be him who fumbled so badly.

Maybe in Ukraine it wasn’t so strange, Jason thought; Ivan didn’t seem hesitant in the slightest, and hadn’t even batted an eye when they told him. Now the rest of the squad was watching Jason jealously — they wished they were in his position, but Jason was suddenly so nervous he would have switched in a heartbeat if he could.

It had all seemed like a silly lark when Charlie came up with the idea. The idea began with rumors flying that the GHU football team forced their freshmen to give the seniors handjobs. To most of the school, it was probably-false gossip; to the gay men of the gymnastics team, it was a fantasy come true. To supposedly-bisexual Charlie, it was a way to play a prank on their sexy muscle-bound Russian teammate.

So they told him that was normal — Ivan had found out about the football players on his own, and he believed that, so it wasn’t a big stretch. Before his first match, Charlie told Ivan that the biggest loser on the team had to give a handjob to the winner. Charlie and the others just wanted to make Ivan uncomfortable, and they were all gay enough to give each other a handjob for fun, regardless of who won or lost.

Nobody thought Ivan would score the best on the whole team, on his very first tournament in America. He danced across the balance beam, and he was so graceful at it that Jason managed to pull his attention away from the bulging crotch beneath his singlet.

And so now here they were. Ivan belched and flopped his limp, uncut cock between his hands. Everyone stared at Jason jealously — they all wanted to stroke off their macho Ukrainian friend.

But now Jason wasn’t sure. If he wasn’t in this position, he would have been just as jealous as the others, but it was easy to want something you couldn’t possibly have. Now that it was in front of him, Jason felt a little ashamed — as far as Ivan was concerned, Jason was a straight man debasing himself by servicing a stronger man. That was humiliating, even if it was also sexy. The fact that Ivan would think Jason was humiliating himself made the humiliation a lot more real.

Ivan grunted something in Russian, then said in thickly accented English, “You are backing out? You said it is tradition, American tradition I should be agreeing to be doing.”

A surge of fear ran through Jason’s body, and he grabbed for Ivan’s cock instinctually. Ivan was big and he certainly looked mean enough; he had implied he was training to join the Ukrainian secret police. Jason did not want to earn his ire.

And despite, his fear and his humiliation, Jason really did want to stroke him off. So he did. He gripped that tight rod, slick with sweat, and gave it a stroke.