Kota pushed through the heavy double doors into the gym wing, the familiar wave of humid, sweat-soaked air hitting him like a wall.
The cavernous space echoed with the rhythmic slap of jump ropes cracking against the polished wooden floor, the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead, and the scattered murmurs of twenty-something seniors already gathered along the bleachers like a pack of hungry wolves.
Otis was in the center of it all again, barefoot on the mat in nothing but those tiny gray shorts that clung to every curve, his light brown hair sticking to his forehead from the light sweat already beading on his skin. The jump rope whirled in perfect arcs around his body, the thick cord slicing the air with a sharp whoosh before cracking loudly against the floor in time with every hop. Each landing sent his massive ass clapping—loud, meaty thunderclaps that rippled through the twin globes like waves on water, the soft, doughy flesh jiggling hypnotically under the thin fabric, cheeks spreading and bouncing with every controlled bounce.
The seniors watched in dead silence, phones angled discreetly, breaths held, the same dumb kid from yesterday perched on the front row with his metal water bottle balanced precariously on his knee.
Kota felt the irritation flare instantly. That same fucking kid. The one who always managed to ruin the view at the worst possible moment. Otis kept the rhythm steady, voice calm and warm as always. "Today's a calming day, everyone. No chaos, no roughhousing. Just breathe, stretch, and let the energy flow. Change into your gear and we'll start soon. Nice and easy."
The kid's hand slipped. The metal water bottle tumbled from his knee, clanging loudly across the floor like a gunshot in the quiet gym. The seniors groaned in unison, the spell broken, phones lowering as Otis paused mid-jump, rope stilling in his hands. He smiled that gentle, patient smile anyway, but the seniors were already turning on the clumsy boy like sharks smelling blood.
Kota changed quickly in the locker room corner, peeling off his hoodie and yanking the compression shirt over his head. The cool air hit his bare chest, the new weight between his legs shifting heavily as he swapped into gym shorts. He glanced over and saw the senior surrounded now—the same dumb kid backed against the lockers, the others closing in, faces twisted with frustration.
"You fucking clutz,"
one snarled, shoving him hard enough that his back hit the metal with a clang.
"You gave away our position again. I was this close to snapping a pic of Otis's nice ass mid-jump and you drop your stupid bottle like an idiot."
Another senior slapped the kid across the back of the head, the smack echoing sharp.
"Apologize, you useless bitch. We were finally getting a good angle."
The kid kept apologizing, voice small and shaky, eyes wide. "S-sorry—didn't mean to—I just—"
But during the apologies his shorts tented noticeably, a clear bulge forming as he got hard from the rough treatment. The seniors noticed immediately, their anger shifting into mocking laughter.
"Look at this—clutzy slut gets off on getting beatings now? You're hard just from us yelling at you?"
They crowded closer, hands reaching out to grope his chest, pinch his sides, one even palming the front of his shorts and squeezing.
"Don't move, bitch. Stay right there and take it like the pathetic little toy you are."
Kota hated that kid—always had, the way he ruined every quiet moment—but he wasn't about to let this turn into a full-on bullying session. He was bigger than the bullies, taller, broader from the track and weights his dad had forced on him, even if he was a sweet, nice young guy who had never thrown a real punch in his life.
He hoped his size alone would deter them. Kota separated the crowd with a firm shoulder check, pushing bodies aside until he stood in the middle, death stare locked on the ringleader.
"Cut that shit out."
The bullies froze. One tsked under his breath, another muttered something about "not worth it," and they all backed off, scattering toward the gym floor with grumbled complaints. The kid, Ollie, Kota remembered now, stood there breathing hard, flushed face shiny with nervous sweat, soft glistening lips parted as he stared up at Kota with wide, grateful eyes.
Kota was about to ask if he was okay, the words already forming, but that flushed face and those soft, glistening lips hit him like a freight train. His libido tripled or something—heat surged low in his gut, cock twitching hard in his gym shorts, the new thickness making the fabric tent obviously. Ollie looked up at him, voice small.
"You didn't have to save me… they were right. I'm just a bitch who gets off on abuse."
Kota cut him off, voice low and rough. "I'm not a savior. I saved your ass, so now you have to do something for me. Got it?"
Ollie moaned softly, the sound needy and immediate, and dropped to his knees without warning, right there in the locker room corner, eyes already glassy as he stared up at the bulge in Kota's shorts.
Kota's breath caught, the stall door of the nearest closed-off changing area only a few steps away. He grabbed Ollie by the arm, dragging him inside the small, private space, the door clicking shut behind them with a finality that made the air feel thicker.
He pinned Ollie against the wall, one hand on his chest, the other already working his own waistband down, the heavy new length of his cock springing free and slapping against Ollie's flushed cheek.
"You owe me," Kota growled, the words carrying every ounce of the day's pent-up dominance.
Ollie's lips parted on a shaky moan, tongue flicking out instinctively toward the thick head already leaking pre-cum, his hands trembling as they reached up to steady himself against Kota's hips.
The changing stall was cramped, the air warm and close, the faint scent of old gym socks and cleaning spray mixing with the sharp musk already rising from Kota's body.
Ollie looked up with those wide, needy eyes, lips glistening, and whispered something that sounded like a plea, but Kota didn't let him finish.
He guided the head to those soft, parted lips, the new girth stretching them wide as Ollie opened eagerly, the first wet heat enveloping him making Kota's head fall back against the stall wall with a low groan.
The day had barely started, and already he was sinking back into that dark, hungry rhythm, Ollie's tongue swirling desperately around the tip while his hands gripped tighter, pulling Kota deeper into the wet, willing mouth that had just been apologizing moments ago.
Kota's fingers tangled in Ollie's hair, the soft strands damp with nervous sweat, and he thrust forward just enough to feel the back of that throat flutter around him, the new size making every inch feel like a claim, a reminder that whatever had changed inside him last night was only getting started. Ollie moaned around the thick shaft, the vibration traveling straight down Kota's length as the stall filled with the wet, obscene sounds of eager sucking, the outside gym noise fading to nothing behind the closed door.
Kota's hips rocked slow and deliberate, chasing the heat, the tightness, the way Ollie's flushed face looked so perfectly wrecked already, and for the first time that morning the ache in his body felt like fuel instead of exhaustion, the new reality of his size pressing forward into something warm and desperate that wanted nothing more than to take it all.