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“A little too much for you, sweetheart?” I said in an amused voice. “You’ve never seen a guy built like me before?”
She nodded, eyes still staring at my form.
“Yes,” she stammered. “But … but it’s more than that. You’re poking out, Shaft,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Down there.”
Oh shit. I knew what she was talking about. Because I have a giant monster and for sure, these gym shorts are snug. Wrestlers wear tight clothes to keep things from flopping around when we grapple. The spandex is protection against injury.
But the thing is that my shaft is fucking enormous, and there are times when the nylon gives way. The material’s just not strong enough, the same way Lily’s sports bra couldn’t hold her in.
So I look down, expecting to see the worst. My monster breaking free of the fabric, or something else just as rancid and obscene. But thank god, it’s not that bad.
For sure, Mr. Stiffie’s there. But he’s not jutting out at ninety degrees or anything like that. Instead, just the head is poking over my waistband, the purple helmet slightly wet.
“Oh shit,” I drawl, making no move to stuff myself back in. “Goddamn shorts. I’ve gotta talk to Petey about getting better wrestling uniforms.”
Lily can’t speak for a moment, eyes wide and immobile, just staring at the puffy head.
“Shaft,” she murmurs weakly, eyes flickering up to mine before dropping down again. Her pink tongue darts out for a moment, licking her top lip. It’s enough to do me in.
“That’s my name,” I say in a growl, fixing her with blue eyes. “Sweetheart, have you wondered why people call me Shaft and not Mike or Michael?”
She shakes her head, barely able to compute. I can tell that Lily can hear me, but the words take a moment to sink in.
“No?” she breathes, big boobies heaving under my t-shirt. “Why-why?” God, this is so fucking delicious. The thin cotton material is so old that it’s practically transparent and I can see the way her nips poke out, hard and begging to be sucked.
“Because there’s more to this monster than just this,” I said, gesturing at the leaking head of my dick. “There’s so much, in fact, that it’s hard for the average female to take. That’s why they call me Shaft. Disgusting, I know, but that’s guys for you.”
Lily can’t answer for a moment, her gasp ringing out in the locker room. Those caramel eyes are saucers now, her pupils dilating as the dirty story sinks in.
“That’s right sweetheart,” I say silkily. “It’s just guys being guys, and you look pretty surprised. But don’t be scared. Do you want a taste? Would that make you feel better?”
I keep my voice calm and soothing, like I’m working with a skittish mare.
“It’s not going to bite,” I say smoothly. “In fact, if you touch it, I think you’ll really like it. Wanna try, sweet thing? Again, I think you’ll get over your fears if you give it a try.”
By now, Lily’s trembling like a leaf. And why not? She’s locked in the women’s locker room with a giant of a man, and I obviously want her. But that’s not it. My penis is dripping hard now, the need undeniable. It’s more than just a bead of pre-cum at the top, this shit is leaking like a faucet, the tip gloriously shiny and wet.
“Come on,” I say soothingly, coaxing her to come closer. “It doesn’t bite, I promise.”
For a moment, I’m afraid Lily’s going to run screaming. I’m afraid the brunette’s going to take off like a rocket, shrieking some bullshit about sexual harassment or the like. I wouldn’t blame her. The situation’s unbelievable, and shit, we just met yesterday.
But instead, my girl’s a good one because her mouth opens and closes silently for a moment, the shock evident in her eyes. But then slowly she approaches while breathing hard, her boobies heaving up and down.
“Shaft,” she murmurs, her voice a little dry. Lily swallows heavily, stepping even closer. “Shaft.”
I’m rock steady, willing her to breach my personal space.
“That’s my name, sweetheart,” come the low words. “Come on, it won’t bite.”
And finally, Lily’s standing only about a foot away. I can feel the heat coming off her form, she’s like a furnace. Her cheeks are flushed and she swallows again heavily, that slim neck visibly moving as her eyes stay fixed to my glans.
“Touch it,” I say in a rumble. “Come on, sweetheart.”
Slowly, her hand extends until she has one finger pressed to the head of my dick, right on the rim of my helmet. Oh fuck, it feels good. But I need more.
“Stroke it softly, sweetheart,” comes my low rumble, both of us staring at where her hand meets my cock. “Experiment a little.”
She swallows again, her eyes flickering to me for a moment, and then slowly, tentatively, that forefinger makes a circle around the helmet which makes a groan escape my chest.
